
Class JS LP 5S 

Book -P> 33 F^ 

Copyright^ 13-Q4- 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




MARY SHAW BAKER 



Footprints on the Sands 
of Time 

MARY SHAW BAKER 

"Footprints that perhaps another 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

Some forlorn and shipzvrecked brother 
Seeing, may take heart again." 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 
1904 



Copyright 1903 by Mary Shaw Baker. 
All Rights Reserved 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 


Two Copies Received 


APR 19 1904 


Copyright Entry 
O^u .l<\—lao'4- 
CLASS 0- XXc. No. 


5- — ? 1 U- 

COPY B 



Printed at 

The Gorham Press 

Boston, U. S. A. 






To Mrs. Mary Patterson Smith 
Woodville, Mississippi 



PREFACE 

This volume was not premeditated. Ever since 
my earliest recollection I have written rhyme. 
My father was an officer in the British army, 68th 
Durham Light Infantry. He was unwilling to 
rear a daughter in Barracks, so placed me at ex- 
tremely early age in boarding school, Water- 
ford, Ireland. Here my rhymes attracted no- 
tice. The first, of which I have recollection were 
suggested by a letter from father and ran as fol- 
lows : 

I'm on the field of glory now, 
I've soldiers brave at my command, 
I've wreath of laurel on my brow 
But I'm far from my fatherland. 

They shout, they shout, they say I'm great 
They say I'm happy, brave and free — 
But oh, I wish it were my fate 
My fatherland once more to 1 see. 

The field is stained with human gore 
And this great battle now is done, 
But oh, to see that land once more 
I'd give the laurels I have won. 

I'd give my treasures, wealth and power — 
I'd give all earth if I could roam — 
To pluck one wild, dear Irish flower 
That grows within my native home. 

I think I was about seven years old when this 
was written. When asked where I found the 
verses, I was puzzled and could only reply. "I 



PREFACE 

think they just popped into my head." My work 
was much praised, but this did not elate me, I was 
lonely and homesick and did not like being called 
a genius. I wanted to be like other children. I 
pined for home. I continued always to write 
when anything "popped into my head. " At the 
age of fourteen I was left an orphan and came 
with friends to America. The spirits of my child- 
hood — the Spirit of Song and the Spirit of Sor- 
row — came with me, and have always remained 
my companions. I found bread and work and 
sometime leisure for the Muse. My verses were 
picked up by friends who, with my consent, but 
without my approval, published them. Finally 
under the nom de plume of Mabel I became vol- 
untary contributor to periodicals. My work was 
well received and approved by eminent literary 
authorities. By the advice of many and with the 
assistance of my friend, Mrs. Wm. Hamilton, I 
prepared a volume for publication. This I com- 
mitted to care of an acquaintance going to New 
York. It was stolen and never recovered. I sup- 
pose the thief finding that the package contained 
nothing of value to him, destroyed it. I became 
contributor to several periodicals and seemed to 
be entering on a successful literary career. At 
this time, the Civil War broke out. During the 
contest, my whole energy was devoted to work- 
ing for the soldiers. In October '63, I married 
a wounded Confederate soldier. He lost prop- 
erty and health. I was not strong. We had 
hardship. At the end of fourteen years. I was 
left a penniless widow with one child. Circum- 
stances and surroundings give no chance for lit- 



PREFACE 

erary work. My daily labor was required to keep 
the wolf from the door. After many years of 
many vicissitudes, I drifted into this lodging 
where, at least, the early hours of morning are 
free from disturbance. Most of these poems were 
written with the first beams of the rising sun 
brightening the page. In writing, I simply fol- 
lowed inclination without any thought of result. 
I contributed occasional scrap to newspaper. Cas- 
ually, I began to show my morning work to my 
friend and neighbor, Mrs. Mary Patterson Smith. 
She rebuked me for the time I had lost — the op- 
portunities I had recklessly cast aside. I had 
been many times upbraided by others on this ac- 
count, but nothing had thoroughly stirred me 
until she aroused my full sense of responsibil- 
ity. Returning to my lodging, heart within me 
said "Even at the eleventh hour I will make an 
effort." Still I had no further idea than to write 
my best and contribute to newspapers. I had no 
thought of preparing a volume, but the work, 
very much to my surprise grew and accumulated. 
Whatever good arises from it is largely due to 
Mrs. Smith. Without her encouragement, it 
would never have been written, although at all 
times and under all circumstances, I have been 
urged to cultivate my gift. I never before real- 
ized its importance and value. Now placing this 
book in the hands of the reader, I trust that it 
may prove to be as its title page indicates. 

M. S. BAKER, 

Woodville, Miss. 



CONTENTS 

"Where Do They Come From?" 13 

Mars 14 

Tri-Colored 15 

Song of a Shirt 17 

The Cannon 19 

"Cast Thy Bread Upon The Waters" 20 

Outward Bound 21 

"What is Worth Doing at All is Worth Do- 
ing Well" 23 

Burial of Mr. J. B. Morris 25 

In the Morning 26 

The Queen's Reply 27 

I Don't Know What to Do 29 

I Know 30 

Separate 32 

Knitting 34 

Tramore Bay 36 

Ships Far Away 38 

Returned 40 

Beggar and King 41 

May Dew 42 

Your Wish 44 

9 



CONTENTS 

Kitty Cat 45 

Waiting 46 

Birdie 47 

The Rope 48 

The Poet 49 

"Come Back and Kiss Me" 50 

Sleep 52 

Unaware 53 

Grandma's Carpet 54 

Misfortune 56 

I. O. O. F 57 

"It Might Have Been" 58 

To Estelle Anna Metzger on Her Baptismal 

Day 59 

Stitching 60 

"Mills of the Gods" 61 

At the Station 62 

At Last 63 

Poems 65 

The Two 66 

The Problem 68 

Spirit of Song 69 

10 



CONTENTS 

The Florist 71 

Settled 72 

Our 73 

Angel Voices 74 

Woodville, Miss 75 

The Tespot 77 

The Promised Land 78 

Postman 79 

The Last Mile 81 

Why? 82 

The Engineer 84 

Woman 86 

Uncle Sam 88 

Midnight 89 

No Pain, No Pleasure 91 

The Cover 92 

My Dream 93 

The Best Thing to Do 95 

Old and Poor 96 

Tacking 97 

Prayer ^9 

A Bad Habit 100 

11 



CONTENTS 

Erin 102 

Friend and Foe 103 

Autumn Leaves 104 

Little Bird 106 

We Do Not Know 108 

Memory Pictures of Erin 109 

Josey in 

Pride 113 



12 



"WHERE DO THEY COME FROM?" 

"Where do they come from?" I don't know, 
That question was asked of me long ago; 
When I was a child at my mother's knee 
And the songs were so gently bro't to me. 
"Where do they come from?" my mother said, 
In book or in paper where have you read 
"What I've never seen?" so puzzled quite 
I looked in my mother's face that night 
And answered, "I think they pop into my head." 

And now, dear friend, you may ask again 

Whence flows to my pen the soft refrain, 

I know as little as I knew when 

My infant fingers first grasped the pen; 

I only know that my spirit wings, 

Away and away, and with Nature sings, 

I only know that the simplest flower 

Breathes voice to me in the loneliest hour, 

I only know that the waves at play 

Bring music soft o'er the sunkissed bay. 

I only know that a single word 

Can sweep o'er the harp and its chords are 

stirred; 
I only know that a touch can shake 
The spirit within me, and music make; 
I only know that I would not part 
With the songs that breathe to mylist'ning heart; 
I only know that they come and go — 
Never afar — with their voices low; 
I can only answer, as puzzled quite, 
I answered my mother that summer night, 
The songs you have never seen or read 
It seems to me "pop into my head." 



13 



MARS 

They have spread before them a map of stars, 

And learnedly talk of the planet Mars; 

I sit in the corner — a simple child, 

With a fairy story book sweet, beguiled, 

But I drop the volume to hear them tell 

Of beings who maybe in Mars do dwell, 

That it is inhabited I've no doubt 

But their nature I'm sure is past finding out; 

These men that talk are so very wise 

May build a railroad to reach the skies 

And telephone stations may fix afar 

On lightning posts from star to star. 

There can be no guessing what man can do 

In the seas below or the skies so blue, 

But some how I do not long to see 

What Mars' inhabitants chance to be; 

They might perhaps in their glorious plan 

O'ershadow the pride of the mundane man ; 

They might convince us we are not all, 

And treat us with scorn and make us small. 

Sometimes perhaps, I may wing away 

A rover free in the realms of day 

Sometime perhaps I may better know 

The way that my spirit has to go, 

But the trip is long — there are many stars 

I may touch before reaching the planet Mars, 

And so, at the present, I don't desire 

My heart to weaken — my brain to tire 

About a matter that I can see 

Is nothing at all in the world to me. 

I'm here, and here I shall still remain 



14 




MRS. M. P. SMITH 



To struggle against it is just in vain — 
There's lots on this earth for me to learn, 
Good knowledge for which I am bound to yearn, 
Good knowledge and plenty this side the stars, 
So I have not to study the planet Mars! 

TRI-COLORED 

The bugle call and the roll of drum 

Were the earliest sounds I heard, 
The rattling gun and the marching feet 

My baby pulses stirred. 
I gazed with joy on the scarlet coat, 

My father, so dear, was one, 
And never was scene more grand and brave 

Under the rising sun — 
Than soldiers marching thro' barracks gate, 

For my baby heart was warm — 
Oh nothing could be more bright or fair 

Than my father's uniform. 

Long years sped by, and I crossed the main, 

I turned from the em'rald shore 
With orphaned heart and a sad farewell 

For the land I should see no more. 
But under Columbia's skies I found 

The home and the loving heart, 
I found a place and a work to do 

And I thanked for my daily part; 
Swift years sped on and the call of war 

With an angry shouting came. 
Brother 'gainst brother — the North and the 
South — 

Broke out in destruction flame; 
I saw my husband so young and strong 

As he marched from our cot away 

15 



With the rusty gun he had brightened up 

And his coat of dingy grey; 
I bade him go, for my life was young, 

Its rebel pulses warm 
And nothing could seem more royal then 

Than my husband's uniform. 

Then years sped by and the bugle call 

Rang wild thro' the angry land, 
Our nation insulted by Spain had been 

The insult we could not stand! 
My son said "Mother" — here he smiled, 

"I'm a rebel thro' and thro', 
But my country calls and I must away 

To fight with the boys in blue!" 

I did not ask him to stay — Oh, no! 

For my heart was brave and warm 
And nothing could seem more fine and grand 

Than my son's blue uniform! 

My father sleeps on Emerald shore 

Touched by the Irish Sea, 
My husband rests in a lonely grave 

Under a Southern tree, 
The grey moss trails above his bed, 

The birds a requiem sing — 
A soft low chant for the soldier low 

Who fell in life's sunny spring. 

My son is away in the far off west, 

He is not a soldier now; 
And lines of care by the toiling years 

Are marking his youthful brow. 
He is living in peace, but then I know 

He's ready to march and do 

16 



When a foreign foe dares Uncle Sam 
And rouses his boys in blue. 

So now you see 'tis not very strange, 

The heart that is in me warm, 
Wears with pride and with love that are justly 
there 

A tri-colored uniform. 
Dear friend, when you fold my fingers cold 

Just place with a loving hand 
These colors three in flowers expressed — 

The angels will understand, 
For under whatever skies I sleep 

My soul will for aye be true 
To the colors that Heaven arranged for me, 

The scarlet, the grey, the blue! 

SONG OF A SHIRT 

You have heard the story in prose I know, 

But in rhyme, perhaps it will make more show 

Of mighty king in a dreadful plight 

With disease that troubled him day and night; 

His doctors contended, and tho't and planned, 

And strove all they could to understand — 

Appendicitis was then unknown, 

Probably this was what made him groan, 

And any how his kingdom great 

Was sad upset at his doubtful state, 

His doctors dosed him with pill by rule, 

For at that time there was no capsule; 

But the more they gave him, the worse he got 

Until he called them an "idiot lot," 

Until he got mad and stoutly swore 

He would be dosed by their trash no more 

Now here was dilemma that all see plain, 

17 



"Call in the sages to soothe his pain!" 

In came of sages the very best — 

And this was his firm and stern behest 

"Go forth oh, King — there's no cure for thee 

Till thou meet a man who from care is free; 

Thy cure is certain when you can 

Swap shirts with a perfectly happy man!" 

Up sprang the monarch — "I'm saved!" he cried, 

"To find that man I'll look far and wide — ■ 

Confound the doctors, and thanks to you 

For a task that is so easy to do!" 

So off he started in royal pride 
On a trip he found was far and wide, 
Go where he would, 'twas all the same, 
Each heart held its measure of woe or blame, 
Some answered "Yes, I'd have perfect bliss 
If it wasn't for that — if it wasn't for this!" 
And so at last in deep despair 
The monarch said "I will hie me where 
The trouble began, and lay me down 
For nought to me are sceptre and crown!" 
So homeward his footsteps weary turned, 
His soul opprest by the lesson learned — 
A street obscure chanced in his way 
Where hot was shining the glare of day, 
He noticed a cobbler in shabby stall, 
Sewing and tugging with busy awl 
Singing aloud as his stitches ran — 
"Thank Heaven, I am a happy man!" 
The king astonished paused to hear 
In a place like this such song of cheer; 
"Cobbler, oh, cobbler! — my dearest friend 
To all of my troubles you've made an end 
Swap shirts with me — I'm a mighty king, 
Great honor to you the act will bring!" 

18 



The cobbler stared, "My wants are few 
I always find work on some broken shoe; 
I would swap with you — that wouldn't hurt — 
But — honest man — I haven't a shirt!" 



THE CANNON 

Once I saw in the mouth of a gun, 

Left on the field when the fray was done, 

A dear little bird which had found rest 

And built for her birdlings, a cozy nest — 

An aged soldier puts back the weeds 

To find whence the twitter of joy proceeds 

And so we gaze with wondering eyes 

As the little bird sings in her Paradise 

In the Cannon mouth that rested quite 

Since the long ago of a bloody fight. 

Over and over I think again 

Of the blood and sorrow — the tears in vain, 

That were caused by the belching of hate and fire 

That burst from the cannon in dev'lish ire, 

And now from the self same iron ring 

Float the song, and the flutter of happy wing; 

The veteran bows his head in thought, 

Then speaks with a voice — emotion fraught, 

"My child" he says "'tis a lesson sweet, 

A thing like this in our way to meet, 

The old is passing in rust away — 

The struggle — the strife — the dev'lish fray, 

Your youth like the birdie may joyous spring 

Thro weeds of remembrance and sweetly sing 

Of a better time — of a peace in life 

That may follow the crash of murderous strife, 

That may silence the roar of the iron gun 

And awaken joy that the cause is won 

19 



That may bring the day to our own dear land 
When all shall unite in a glorious band, 
And the roar of the gun shall silenced be 
By the sweet-voiced bird of Liberty!" 



"CAST THY BREAD UPON THE 
WATERS" 

"Cast thy bread upon the waters, after many days 
of pain, 

After many days of waiting, it shall come to thee 
again." 

With thy garner overflowing and thy soul from 
starving free 

Give and lend unto the needy — it shall thrice re- 
turn to thee! 

It will come when fortune lowers, some kind 

heart perhaps unknown, 
Will reach out amid the darkness and respond 

unto thy own — 
It will come when sickness finds thee — it will 

come in hour of grief 
And the hand which thou hast strengthened shall 

be there with sure relief. 

"Cast thy bread upon the waters" let the love 
within thy breast 

Kindle freely toward the struggling and thy la- 
bor shall be blest — 

Hold the cup of healing kindness to the lips that 
parch and fade, 

They will give thee back a blessing and thy own 
thirst shall be stayed. 



20 



They will give thee back a blessing that will 
cling in pain or woe, 

That will follow as an angel wherever thou dost 
go, 

That will cheer thee 'mid the tempest and lift thy 
drooping head 

When the winter howls about thee and life's ear- 
ly hopes are dead. 

"Cast thy bread upon the waters" for the night 

comes on apace 
And the sun now shining o'er thee 'mid the 

gloom will hide his face, 
But the God who knoweth all things will then 

whisper in thy pain, 
"Thou hast comforted thy brothers — they shall 

comfort thee again!" 
And the brow which thou hast lifted and the 

hand thy own hath prest, 
Shall be sent to lift thee gently to some loving 

human breast, 
And amid the sorest trial thou shalt feel this 

truth divine, 
If I soothe another's sorrow, he at last will light- 
en mine! 

OUTWARD BOUND 

I was panting and hot and sweating, 

My forehead shed drops like rain, 
For I had been running wildly 

To catch the outgoing train; 
I dropped on the bench aweary 

My face was a flaming red, 
And in angry heat of passion 

I dashed the hat from my head — 

21 



The wary policeman saw me, 

To my side he swiftly came, 
"Pray, stranger, why is this trouble 

And who is the one to blame?" 
"No one!" I briskly answered, 

"I was bound for the eastern train — 
It is gone — it is gone, and left me, 

And my chasing was all in vain!" 

The policeman laughed out loudly, 

I was tempted to strike him dead, 
But a wiser mood prevailing 

I merely groaned instead; 
I looked straight up at his features — 

They wore such a comical look, 
I could see and could read his wonder 

As if in an open book, 
"Why man!" he said "you've been drinking 

To take such a race in vain 
Trying to catch the western 

When you wanted the eastern train!" 
Just then the eastern came puffing, 

I had not a word to say, 
But swung aboard rejoicing 

To be safely under way. 
I laughed till they thought me crazy 

Aboard the eastern train 
As I tho't of my foolish chasing 

Of the western — all in vain! 

Ah, many a time since that error 
I've tho't of the long past hour. 

And many a time since that error 
I have vainly expended power; 

I see the smiling policeman 



22 



In plain clothes strolling by, 
I see them gaze at my folly 

With quizical, wondering eye, 
They know I've been rushing madly 

And my rush is all in vain 
Chasing the outbound western 

While I'm needing the eastern train; 
Well, laugh as you will, policemen, 

I am not alone this way, 
For isn't the same thing happening 

To every one every day? 

"WHAT IS WORTH DOING AT ALL IS 
WORTH DOING WELL" 

I once had a teacher, in years long ago, 

Her ringlets of jet freely sprinkled with snow, 

Life's struggle had sharpened her features once 

fair 
And her forehead, tho' smooth wore the shadow 

of care, 
But the storm was now lulled, and the lip and 

the eye 
Spoke of triumph o'er passion, and hopes set on 

high, 
So kindly she led us along the true way, 
Patiently, lovingly — day after day, 
And often she said "In your hearts let it dwell — 
What's worth doing at all is worth doing well." 

I used to think then she was formal and cold, 
And I could see clearer than one growing old, 
I listened of course to the words that she said 
But the weight of her maxims ne'er bothered my 
head; 

23 



'There are things may be slighted" my judgment 

would say, 
"And I'm sure all my life, I shall find it that 

way," 
But at last — tho' quite late, I have learned to tell 
"What's worth doing at all is worth doing well!" 

Sitting here after school hours — the children at 

play, 
My heart travels back to that time far away — 
In fancy I sit 'mid the green hills once more 
With the soft evening sun smiling in at the door 
And the breaking of waves sounding clear on the 

strand; 
(Shall I see thee no more, oh, my own native 

land!) 
Was it only a dream full of joyousness free 
That never — ah, never can come back to me! 

Ah, weak heart, cease pining — how many feet 

roam 
Away from the green hills of childhood's sweet 

home, 
Do'st think thou art better than others whose 

pain 
Is to ponder o'er pleasures that come not again? 
Do'st think that no shadow should'st fall on thy 

way 
That beauty and peace should be with thee each 

day? 
How great is thy folly! arise from its spell, 
And go to work promptly — and do thy work 

well! 



24 



Let poverty find thee — let friendship forsake, 
Let troubles encompass — thy spirit to break 
Let pride look with scorn, let foes cast thee 

down, 
Let the cross press upon thee, but think of the 

crown — 
And know that at worst it is in thee to rise 
With thy banner of triumph flung out to the 

skies ! 
Still hold and remember these words as a spell 
"What's worth doing at all is worth doing well." 

Ah, teacher, dear teacher — now under the sod, 
Thy patient sweet spirit gone home to thy God, 
Thou art with me to-day just the same as of old, 
And thy words are before me in pictures of gold, 
Still the lessons thou gavest far off by the sea 
Are a glory and gladness forver to me, 
And thy words sound to-day as a clear silver bell 
"What's worth doing at all is worth doing well." 



BURIAL OF MR. G. B. MORRIS 

A quiet scene in a forest — the sun just sinking 
down, 

About our feet the shadows on carpet green and 
brown 

An open grave surrounded by a faithful brother- 
hood, 

A solemn voice uplifted where we in silence 
stood. 

In silence and in sadness, to see one laid away 
Whose life had closed in quiet as lovely summer 
day, 



25 



Awaiting to see him covered — shut in from hu- 
man eyes 

One who will wait to greet us beyond the starry 
skies. 

Of many a faith and nation around the grave we 

prest 
To see the sod fall lightly on gentle human breast: 
All tho't of ev'ry difference, that brief hour out 

of sight. 
Gathered as we'll gather in the final judgment 

light. 

The hour and the scene were fitting — a life so 

calmly done, 
And at last a group of mourners tinged by the 

setting sun, 
We turned away from graveyard — away from 

light grown dim, 
While over the new mound quivered the sweet 

birds vesper hymn; 
While up above our vision — above our power to 

hear, 
We know our friend found welcome where the 

good are true and dear. 



IN THE MORNING 

Last night I lay in the darkness 

And I heard the gusty rain 
And the angry howl of the storm and wind 

As it shook the window pane; 
I heard with awe and shuddered, 

And the chill within my breast 
Shivered my frame as ague, 

26 



And banished the balm of rest; 
Oh, night, so cruel and stormy — 

Alas, for the boats at sea 
And the toilers out on the billows 

Raging so wild and free ! 

Then stars arose, and the morning 

Came in with a shattered light, 
And anon the glory of sunrise 

Banished the gloom of night; 
I opened the window gladly, 

I gazed at the glittering trees, 
I said "Thank God for the morning 

That bringeth this hour of ease!" 

I thought of the night of sorrow 

When my heart saw naught but rain, 
And the grief storm 1 dashed upon it 

As gusts on the shaken pain; 
Then my heart sped upward — upward, 

Till it reached the realms above, 
And I saw the sparkling rain drops 

Hang on the bowers of love. 
Oh, night of storm and darkness! 

Oh, morning of peace and rest! 
The Father sends us, He wills it, 

And his will is surely the best! 



THE QUEEN'S REPLY 

"Fain would I climb, but I fear a fall!" 
"Nay then," spake the Queen "Climb not at all!" 
Twas a royal answer and nobly said 
To the young knight list'ning with downcast 
head; 

27 



Twas a glorious tho't from a peerless soul 
That never had stooped to a fear's control, 
It was fit recording and handing down 
As a saying worthy of England's Crown, 
Of one who had never dreamed of a fall — 
"Sir Knight, if you fear, climb not at all!" 

Somehow, tonight, my spirit is stirred 
By the ringing force of that queenly word, 
Over I have heard it and oft again 
Thro' all of my life with its clear refrain, 
But it comes to-night as something new 
Leading aloft to the noble and true, 
Exhorting the soul to its fullest might 
To rise and to soar in the realms of light, 
"Climb daringly upward — you will not fall, 
But if you're in fear, climb not at all!" 

There's nothing truer — in fear, you know, 
Downward the glance to the gulf below, 
Uncertain the step as the nerves give way 
And the heart is checked in its fullest play, 
Strive on if you will, with a noble aim, 
The pathway is open to deathless fame; 
Climb up if you will, but look not down, 
Remember the saying of England's Crown — 
Higher and higher — dream not you'll fall, 
But, if you're in fear — climb not at all!" 

Higher and higher with all your might, 
Mount thro' the gloom of the starless night, 
Still higher and higher unharmed ascend, 
Solicit not aid from your nearest friend; 
Still "higher" and "higher!" your watchword be 
Tho' troubles surround like an angry sea 
'Mid all your dangers, look not below, 

28 



Ask never assistance of friend or foe; 
Make firm your footing — you shall not fall, 
But "if you're in fear, climb not at all!" 

Oh, magical rhyme — thro' ages long 
Written in history — told in song, 
Remain in my heart as you are tonight, 
Awaking and prompting to deeds of might, 
Remain in my heart with your clear refrain 
Lulling the voices that clamor of pain, 
Checking the impulse to look below 
Where, irking to strike, is the dastard foe, 
Remain in my heart till my aching eyes 
Can be^r the light of the unveiled skies, 
Mount daringly up, and you shall not fall, 
But "if you're in fear, climb not at all!" 

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO 

My friend came up with a pleasant face 

And paused at my open door, 

My bread was burned to cinders quite 

And my cream spilled on the floor, 

"See here!" I cried "how I'm all upset — 

I've worried the morning thro', 

My husband cross — the children wild 

And I don't know what to do! 

'Tis true that the mill was whistling shrill 

And breakfast a little late, 

But my Lord had no need to growl and slam 

As he passed thro' the garden gate. 

I'm always striving to do my best, 
But somehow, my best will fail; 
The harder I try — the more it seems 
That confusion must prevail. 

*9 



I buttered that bread so very nice 

And thought I would toast it thro' — 

I turned to beat up the cream in haste — 

The bowl from my fingers flew, 

My bread is burned — my cream is spilled 

And I don't know what to do! 

My friend had older grown than I, 

The locks on her temples grey 

For pleasure and sorrow had worn her heart 

For many and many a day ! 

She touched my arm with a gentle grace 

And it seemed she almost smiled 

As she said "You are wasting your heart and 

brain, 
And what is the good, my child? 
The bread is burned — the cream is spilled, 
But worries makes nothing right, 
More milk can be had — more buttered bread 
Is not hopelessly out of sight! 
I've learned what now I would like to teach 
It will help you the whole way thro', 
Just pause in your flurry and think a bit 
When you don't know what to do, 
You may keep your sleeves rolled up, of course, 
And the right way will come to you ! 

I KNOW 

I know I am bound by the laws of man 

I obey with a cheerful mind — 
I know this is well for human good 
And the safety of human kind. 

I know each day as I take my way 
Along thro' life's busy mart 

30 



There's joy and sorrow for ev'ry one, 
And I must accept a part. 

I know I am on a level here 

With every human thing, 
A fit companion for lowliest child, 

A peer for the mightiest king. 

I know that we are as brothers all 

Forming a passing band 
If a comrade fall, I must stoop to help 

And give him a lifting hand. 

If my comrade rise to a prospered seat, 

If he reach an upper place, 
Lo be glad with him I ought to be 

And my gladness is no disgrace! 

But beyond all this, my spirit speeds 

Away in the realms above 
I hear the choir of the Angels sweet 

And I join in their song of love. 

I need no teacher to show me this, 
No voice between God and me 

As I gaze each morn at the rising sun 
And silently bend the knee. 

I need no teacher to lead my soul, 
Gods holds me in his hand; 

I know my spirit is his for aye 
And His teaching I understand. 

I know no creed can bind my sight, 

I see thro' the veil tho' dim; 
I hear His voice — and His voice alone 

And my spirit responds to Him. 

31 



I care not what creed my comrade claims, 
I care not what guise he wears, 

I know if he call for aid that I 
Must lighten his daily cares. 

I know the God Who placed me here 

As one of a human band 
Still holds my spirit and guides my way 

With firm, unerring hand. 

I know I am in His presence now 
Where else could I chance to stray? 

I've been in His presence my whole life thro' 
And there I must surely stay! 

SEPARATE 

Playmates were they in their baby days 
Their homes by the ocean grand, 

Together they danced — together they sang 
On the shining pebbly strand. 

Together they grew in beauty rare 

With sinless hearts and true, 
Their spirits light — their tho'ts as white 

As waves on the crested blue. 

Together they talked in girlhood's days 

And longingly looked away 
And dreamed of strands in far off lands 

Beyond their narrow bay. 

One wished for fame — for the magic power 

To wake the list'ning heart, 
She sighed to herself "I must away 

And take in the world a part!" 

32 



The other with blue and dreamy eyes 

Longed too for a far off goal, 
She knew that somewhere there blooms and 
breathes 

Sweet calm for the waiting soul. 

The maidens two in their sea girt homes, 

Each longed for the joys afar, 
Each answered the call of voice within 

And followed her guiding star. 

The ships came in with their white spread sails 

The maidens were parted there, 
The stately one with the flashing eyes 

And the one with golden hair. 

We will keep each other's ship in sight 

No matter how far the end — 
Each will answer each for ever and aye 

With love of a changeless friend. 

The wind blew high, and the wind blew low 

Their vessels were dashed apart 
And newer scenes and newer friends 

Crowded each youthful heart. 

Sometimes, in a dream of far away 

Each turned to a distant shore, 
And gathered shells in baby glee 

With the loved one seen no more! 

But roaring waters bore on and on 

Thro' sunshine and tempest wild, 
The ships were rudely dashed aside 

'Neath heavens that frowned and smiled. 



33 



Each woman trod on her destined shore 
One climbed to the hills of fame 

The other lost in the giddy crowd 
Where no one could tell her name. 

And now, they are resting far apart — 

On bosoms the heavy clod 
Their spirits away by angels borne 

Up to the smile of God. 

One sleeps under costly stone inscribed 

With a lofty sounding name, 
One sleeps in a bed — grass grown — obscure 

And no one can tell her name. 

One lies where the honored are proud to come 
To gaze on the flower-crowned mold 

Where rises the shaft of a costly stone 
And praise of the dead is told. 

The other lies in a Potter's Field 

Under the arch so blue, 
But each has met her childhood's mate 

With a love for aye so true. 

Oh, dreamer of fame — oh seeker of power 
Who reeks where the bodies lie, 

When spirits meet in the shining morn — 
In realms beyond the sky? 

KNITTING 

To-day, as I hummed o'er my knitting 

Snatches of merriest song, 
Suddenly came a perception 

That part of my work had gone wrong. 

34 



Nearer the sunlight I drew it 

And sure enough, plain could be seen 

The dropped stitch in yesterday's knitting — 
My moment's vexation was keen. 

I drew out the light-burdened needles 
Ripped back to the flaw in the lace, 

I felt — oh, so angry in thinking 

Of the stitch I had dropped out of place. 

All a morning's work wasted for nothing, 

A precious time idled away 
Repairing the wrong of a blunder 

So tho'tlessly made yesterday. 

At last when the stitches were righted, 

Resuming my knitting again, 
To my heart came a train of reflection — 

Reflection enwoven with pain. 

A voice in my breast uttered sadly, 
Ah, if in our lives we could rue, 

Could pluck from the fabric our needles 
And yesterday's blunders undo. 

How many a spirit now living, 

How many a heart that tis crushed 

Would spring with a pean of triumph, 
Would cast off the canker and rust! 

Sweet Angel of Hope, come beside me, 
Just touch with your white wings my brow 

And prompt me to take the true stitches 
In the fabric I'm working with now. 



35 



Oh' give of your light and your patience, 
Let your tintings embelish my way 

And grant that tomorrow may show me 
No flaw in the work of today! 

TRAMORE BAY 

The waves dash high on the rocky shore 
And the echoes wild mock the ceaseless roar 

Of the restless sea. 
The light spray gleams over granite hill 
Where the metal man's finger pointeth still 

To the rocks half hid beneath waters free; 
The seaman's song, as the ship goes by, 
Still blends with the mournful shrilly cry 

Of the sea bird wild, 
The dark rocks stretch round the sunny land — 
As mighty guardians, in pride the stand 

For the surges pause where their forms are 
piled. 

Sad, thrilling tales from the sea's dark caves 
Are borne to the land over foaming waves 

On glittering spray — 
Mournful they are, but children sing 
While the wild bird listens on half poised wing 

To the music soft ere he soars away, 
For songs of gladness are sweet to hear 
And the tones of ocean are cold and drear, 

They have sounds of pain, 
Still the children play with pebble's bright 
And they laugh and dance in the summer light 

Nor heed the sighs of the murmuring main. 

The strand is covered with shining stones 
And here and there lie the bleaching bones 

36 



Of mariners brave; 
For tombs are many beneath the tide 
Where Neptune's billows so mournfully glide 

With requiems wild o'er each nameless grave. 
Tis sad to hear when the tide comes in 
With its never-ending unchanging din, 

That dirge like song; 
Even children hush their tones of glee, 
And in fright away from the strand they flee 

With their pure hands linked like a fairy 
throng. 

When darkness frowns and moonbeams pale 
Glance soft thro' the mist of the night's spread 
veil 

Over shore and sea; 
Then mermaids rise from their unseen caves 
And their forms look fair on the tossing waves 

As they rise and fall with wild surges free; 
Then spectre boats o'er the waters glide, 
But no oar is dipped in the foaming tide 

And no song is sung, 
But they come and go with measure slow 
Gathering the dead where dark surges flow 

While spray, as they pass, o'er the shore is 
flung! 

When stars grow pale, and Aurora bright 
Over land and sea spreads her wing of light, 

Beneath briny waves 
The mermaids dive, and their syren song 
Is heard in the halls where the spectre throng 
With horrible glee, spread their victims' graves, 
But the sunlit foam and smiling sky 
Is all that is seen by the human eye, 

While melodies clear 

37 



Of winds and waters untaught and free 
Chiming together in harmony 
Is all that is heard by human ear. 

Long, long ago, in my childhood's hours 
When my heart was pure as the simple flower 

That bloomed round my home, 
I used to watch on the pebbly strand 
For the fisher boats that were far from land 

Tossing about on treacherous foam. 
Ah, sweet was my joy at close of day 
When the boats were moored in the dear old bay 

And the gladsome sound 
Of song and mirth on sunlit shore 
Was echoed and swelled above ocean roar 

By the joyous strain of the homeward bound ! 

As the bird which sings in gilded dome, 

Yet turns to the light of his greenwood home 

And his native sky, 
So turns my spirit in grief or glee 
To this simple picture of memory 

All pure and bright to my tear-dimmed eyes, 
I'm glad 'tis past with its smiles and tears 
The sad sweet dream of my earliest years; 

Yet its memory 
Comes like a spell in my daily life 
Uplifting my soul in its toils and strife 

And lighting the way to Eternity! 

SHIPS FAR AWAY 

Here by the shore of the narrow bay 
Whence our ships have floated so far away, 
I sit in the light of the glowing west 
And hope for the freight I would love the best 

38 



Where long ago, I spread out free 
My sails of Hope on uncertain sea — 
Returned not yet, so I look and wait 
While sitting in doubt at the Golden Gate, 
So many ships are plain in sight, 
But some have gone down in storms of night- 
Some dashed to pieces on rocky shore, 
Their torn white sails to come no more, 
Their rich freight lying in mermaids' caves 
Under the tossing of sun kissed waves 
And many — oh, many, look out in vain, 
For the ships they ventured to come again — 
How long to wait — I sit and dream, 
While watching the waters in sunset gleam 
I see the ships that are coming in, 
But the name on the prow is far and dim, 
I shade my eyes — they are dazzled quite 
As fall the beams of departing light. 
I look about me — I hear the wail 
Of sorrowful voices from lips all pale; 
Their ships are sunk, their freight all lost; 
Their crews deep lying where storms are tost! 
I see anear me the hopeful eye 
Scanning the sails 'gainst western sky — 
If loss is theirs — the news not yet 
Has come tho' the sun is nearly set. 
I look, I look, with straining brain; 
I try to read 'cross the tossing main, 
My name on some incoming vessel's prow — 
So long away, but still watched for now, 
Wrecked or returning I can't divine; 
Oh, which of the ventured ships is mine? 



39 



RETURNED 

It has come! its white sails furled safe in the 

quiet bay; 
The ship I have waited and watched for — it has 

been so far away! 
Now as the stars are twinkling — shining out one 

by one 
My ship is safe in harbor and all my waiting is 

done ; 
I hear glad voices cheering — blent with billows 

roar, 
I touch the friendly grasping of friends upon the 

shore, 
Gold and glory have found me — my bliss seems 

quite complete 
For even Love is whispering, and courtiers are at 

my feet; 
But ah, for one single whisper — one touch of the 

helping hand, 
One breath from the friend that waited when my 

ship went out from land; 
Oh long and weary the waiting — the watching 

of night and day 
But the friend of my anxious morning has passed 

from my sight away, 
And the tears — the tears are falling, splashing as 

stormy rain 
For the dear one faded from me whose face 

comes not again, 
And now in this moment of triumph, I stand with 

tear-dimmed eyes 
And my joy in a cloud is drooping under the 

starry skies, 
The friends around me wonder — they think my 

bliss complete 

40 



With my white winged ship in harbor and treas- 
ures at my feet. 
Yes! yes! thank God for the evening that has 

bro't my vessel back 
Unwrecked, and treasure laden over the stormy 

track; 
But oh, for the friend that cheered me when my 

way was long and sore 
And we watched the vessel sailing and feared it 

might come no more, 
Forgive these tears unbidden — from deepest 

fount they start, 
For oh, what can repay me for the loss of one 

faithful heart ? 

BEGGAR AND KING 

Under the same blue arch above 

That bends to shelter us all with love, 

We lie asleep, and watching eyes 

Shine alike on all from quiet skies; 

The beggar in rags — the king with crown, 

Both are lying in slumber down, 

Each with his dream of pain or power 

Sleeping and still in the midnight hour; 

To both alike — to beggar and king, 

There will come tomorrow's awakening, 

One to wander thro' busy street, 

Never a friend or a joy to meet, 

Hunger and cold as he treads the snow 

And his brain is weak, and his heart beats low; 

The other calls to his courtiers' near, 

Watching and listening his voice to hear; 

Wherever he turns thro' all the land 

Outstretched to meet him — the friendly hand 

And looks of love in the beaming eyes 

41 



That watch his footsteps with bright disguise. 

I look at both and I think the while 

How little differ the frown and smile — 

A few brief days — and the same blue dome 

O'er Potter's Field and o'er royal tomb 

Will bend while the watching eyes above 

Will shine on both with equal love; 

Beggar and king will sleep once more, 

Their dreams of mortality all passed o'er, 

The sorrow — the triumph — alike laid down, 

The garb of rags, and the dazzling crown 

In fancy I follow to realms afar, 

And wing apast sun and moon and star 

I look within as I stand and wait 

For my turn to enter the jasper gate; 

My guardian spirit is at my side, 

He shows me gardens so grand and wide; 

I see the white robed — a glorious throng 

While the air vibrates with united song 

Two beauteous spirits amid them all, 

Look glad at me and beckoning call, 

My guardian smiles "You saw them when 

Each had his day in the ways of men; 

One had sorrow — one wore a crown, 

But each is forgotten — on earth laid down," 

I ask as I gaze on each dazzling wing 

"But which was beggar, and which was king?" 

MAY DEW 

I have looked on the splendor of cities, 
The pomp and the glories of art; 

I have gathered from lips that were gifted 
The wisdom which strengthens the heart; 

I have gazed on the faces of beauty, 
Have paused before pictures divine 

42 



In the hush of the pauses of anthems 

That were to the spirit as wine; 
I have trodden on carpets whose richness 

Was woven for royalty's tread, 
Where the radiance from chandeliers golden 

Streamed soft from the vaults overhead, 
And the music stole in like enchantment 

From organs so wondrously grand 
That it seemed as if only the angels 

Could touch with so skillful a hand; 
But this morning I wander 'mid glory 

The beauty and freshness of May, 
And the voices of minstrels about me 

Have lifted my soul from the clay, 
Around me the fragrance of blossoms, 

Above the blue arch of the sky, 
And the sun thro' the branches just glancing 

In His hand who is Ruler on high, 
I have thrown myself down on the grasses, 

Have laid my hot brow in the dew 
And I rise as the voices around me 

Call "Go to thy labors anew! " 
Oh, hearts that are weary and aching, 

Steal forth from the dwellings of men, 
Leave the pomp and the glitter of fashion 

And come where the angels have been ; 
One song from the warblers of Nature, 

One hour with thy soul and thy King 
Is worth all the preaching of churches — 

All the eloquence learning can bring; 
This morning to me has been better 

Than weeks 'mid the glories of art, 
For I've knelt at the feet of my Maker, 

And gathered His smile to my heart! 



43 



YOUR WISH 

The wish in your heart — come soon or late, 

You'll find was written by hand of Fate, 

The wish in your heart will come about 

If not in the way you have mapped out 

Just all the same — it will come to you 

As sure as the skies above are blue; 

If you wish for strife — if you wish for fame, 

You'll surely whistle and call the same; 

Hand against hand — the ready blow 

Will meet you — striking where'er you go; 

If you wish for peace — the loving word, 

You'll speak, and reply will be quickly heard; 

If you wish for gold — you will grasp and gain 

Not pausing to think of a neighbor's pain; 

If you wish for power — you'll stem the tide, 

And over the turbulent billows ride; 

If you wish for Poet's happy dream, 

You'll find it by mountain, vale and stream; 

If you wish for love— '-for the kindly hand, 

And the heart that can truly understand, 

You will open the door of welcoming 

And Love, with his harp just wandering, 

Will step inside with a song so free 

To fill up your life with melody ; 

You often think that wishes are in vain, 

But this is my constant, fixed refrain, 

The wish in your heart is your guiding star, 

You cannot stray from it very far; 

The storms may rise and the waves may beat 

And turbulent break at your waiting feet ; 

The sun may dazzle — the night may gloom, 

But this I assert is your final doom, 

Come soon or late, though it may not be 

As your fancy pictures on land or sea, 

44 



Whatever you wish, by night or day 
As the years of life hurry away, 
Your wish is Destiny's guiding star, 
You cannot stray from it very far. 



KITTY CAT 

Now Kitty Cat, you were hardly right 

To leave me here in a lonely plight, 

We were friends together — shine or rain, 

Sweet to my ear was your purr's refrain; 

I gave you share of my daily food, 

Sometimes, perhaps, 'twas not very good; 

It may be the fare was sometimes bad 

Kitty — I gave you the best I had. 

You went without warning cross the street 

To neighbor whose fish was fine and sweet, 

Whose cream was rich, and you found the bowl 

That made you feel as a happy soul; 

'Twas human nature — that's very true — 

But something better I tho't in you, 

I passed you sometimes — you glanced at me 

With tho't in heart I could plainly see 

You could do without me — 'twas not wise 

To show so plain in your blinking eyes — 

My neighbor has moved — you're left alone 

You've come to claimi what was long your own ; 

My door is open — your milk and bread 

You'll find as of yore in kitchen shed, 

You may come and stay — a home I'll give 

If you wish it while we both do live, 

And now I do not intend to blame, 

But my love for you can't be the same 

As when I indulged in silly dream 

That you wouldn't desert for fish and cream! 

45 



WAITING 

Across the page in living light 

This word we read as it comes in sight 

"Waiting." The babe at its mother's breast 

Looks up in her eyes with wond'ring quest; 

The word is written across the page, 

In morning hour — at life's earliest age; 

The child as he hies his way to school, 

Rebellious alike of task and rule, 

Sees clear the word, and his waiting eyes 

Look forward to freedom's paradise; 

The youth as he dreams on mount or glen 

To higher rise then his fellow men, 

Impatient waiting his heart's desire 

With eagle eye and with heart of fire, 

Longs madly to see the page that's next 

While waiting, waiting — and sore perplexed; 

The man in the mart or study hour 

Sees glad the word that is bringing power, 

He's waiting just a turn in the flood 

To bring him lasting and special good ; 

The old man sits by the glowing grate 

Still waiting to reach a better state; 

His form is bent and his heart is cold 

He's striven for fame, for love, for gold — 

He's had them all, and his sun is set, 

He sits in the firelight waiting yet. 

I wonder if ever will come a day 

With "waiting" passed from our lives away- 

I wonder if ever will come the hour 

When we'll wait no more for fame or power 

Or love or glory or something new, 

That we always fancy is our due ; 

I wonder if "Waiting" unwritten be 

In wonderful book of Eternity, 

4 6 



If at last will fade from life's mystic page 
The word we're reading from youth to age; 
I wonder if when we're here no more 
And our feet are treading promised shore 
Beyond the waters so dark and deep, 
Which all must cross in a dreamless sleep; 
I wonder if "Waiting" will fade away 
In glorious light of eternal day. 
How welcome these words — so blest — so blest! 
"Waiting is ended — you now may rest!" 

BIRDIE 

Oh, bird of the morning, you're dropping for me 
The seed with its germ of beautiful tree, 
For you were aloft in the realms of light 
While I lay asleep in silence of night; 
You've called me early with twitter and song, 
I spring from my couch to follow you long; 
Last night I was weary — weary and cold, 
The harp in my bosom rusted and old, 
My fingers too weak to waken its strings 
Till you sang and fluttered your bonnie brown 

wings ; 
What can I answer you darling this day? 
You sweep from my vision dust clouds away. 
I'll touch with light fingers the harp in my breast 
And echo you back with a song of sweet rest, 
Dear Birdie — it may be there's coming an hour 
When storm winds and darkness may silence our 

power, 
But the sun just incoming thro' eastern gate 
Is bright'ning our way and may brighten it late; 
Come brightness, come darkness, come changes 

and all, 
I'll never regret that I answered your call — 

47 



Will never regret that I sped to the skies 

And with you, caught rays from the beautiful 

eyes 
Of angels that watch — of angels that play 
On harp strings of life at breaking of day ; 
I'll sing our wild songs and toilers down here 
Will pause and reward with smile and with tear; 
Birdie, dear Birdie — your voice from my heart 
Singing or sobbing, must never depart, 
I watch — I follow where glorious you go, 
And tell your glad song to comrades below! 



THE ROPE 

Grasp the rope that is cast by hands on the shore 
Your friend may pull strong when your strength 

is no more, 
But boldly and bravely the dark billows breast, 
Strike out for yourself and strike out with your 

best! 
The light-house has started its rescuing boat 
It may reach you or fail, it may sink or float, 
It may toss on waves till your vigor is gone 
And you stark and stiff 'neath the waters alone 
Do not think of that now, just struggle with 

hope, 
Make very best effort while nearing the rope. 
The rope is all right, but its helping were vain 
And heavy and lifeless you'll sink in the main 
If you strive not yourself for land that's in sight, 
If you strive not as God has given you might; 
Independence is something none of us hold, 
Tho' arm, may be strong and the spirit be bold 
'Tis idle to think with our powers and pride; 
We need no assistance while stemming the tide, 



4 8 



Times come when the rope that is cast from the 

land 
We may reach for, and thank for with heart and 

hand, 
But always and ever tug thro' with a will 
And never relax till your pulses are still! 

THE POET 

Something, it seems to me divine, 

Enters my heart with poet's line; 

Often, often, I've wished to be 

A poet sweet with song so free, 

But ah, 'tis given me below 

No glorious task where soul can glow, 

My spirit is of lowly mood, 

Plodder with plodding sisterhood 

All day my task — unchanged — the same 

Without power for song or fame; 

I sweep, I dust, I nurse the child 

Tossing in fever hot and wild, 

Tend my old mother, helpless now ; 

I kiss her lips, I smooth her brow, 

I dress the children for their school 

Put them in mind of "Golden Rule," 

I pick up brother's ball and bat 

And find his kite, his book, his hat, 

I'm up all day, I work and wait, 

Sometimes yearn to be good and great; 

My tasks are well, but seem so small, 

I list to stars, but hear no call 

That can awaken voice divine 

Oh poet sweet, like voice of thine! 

I'd dearly love to sing with thee 

Gath'ring sunbeams from fount and tree, 

But common lot and lowly birth 

49 



Is my heritage here on earth; 

I love to watch the flowers abloom 

That smile in the light of mother's room; 

I love to press in my arms the child 

Sobbing — distrest in its sorrow wild; 

I love to patch up the old worn coat 

And father's approval silent note; 

I like to wash and I like to bake 

And hear the children shout "What a cake!" 

But all of these seem such lowly things 

When I watched you soar on Poet wings ; 

If for one hour, I could only be 

A singer of sunshine wild and free, 

A glorious poet so grand and high 

Reaching beyond the glittering sky. 

But I was born for every day things, 

So only watch and admire your wings ! 

I kissed with fond lips, the speaker's brow 

Bending before me — reverent now, 

''Dear child," I said "you are more than I, 

You soar not on wings past starry sky, 

The tasks you do, and the work complete 

Is better than song, my pretty sweet, 

You are not writing a word of song 

But you live a poem all day long!" 



"COME BACK AND KISS ME" 

"Come back and kiss me!" he pauses on stair, 
As float the sweet words on soft morning air 
He looks up and thinks "I'll tease her just now," 
So passes from sight with smile and a bow. 



so 



She hastens at eve, his footsteps to meet, 
She's crushed beneath car on pitiless street. 



He gazes in silence — this depth of woe 

No one can guess — but the heart-broken know; 

He thinks of the eyes that loving looked down 

As he hurried on to office up town, 

He thinks of dear lips so loving and sweet 

That started at eve, his greeting to meet; 

He thinks of the musical tones on air 

"Come back and kiss me!" oh, depths of despair! 

Why did I go with so careless a smile 

When darling was calling — asking the while 

For one more farewell — and she asked in vain ; 

"God! oh, my God! end this terrible pain, 

Must I live rememb'ring the last words she said 

'Come back and kiss me,' and now she is dead!" 

I looked at the mourner — my tears fell as rain, . 
Deeply I felt the incurable pain 
Of heart sobbing wild for sweet morning past 
In sorrow and longing forever to last; 
How often at morn we rush down the stair 
Unheeding voices that breathe on the air; 
How often we turn from blessings away 
We'll long for and weep for at close of day; 
How often we look with tear-streaming eyes, 
Yearning for faces beyond the far skies; 
How often we reach the hand and the heart 
To call back what morn just gave as our part, 
"Come back and kiss me!" how often in vain 
We cry out, in anguish, again and again! 



5.1 



SLEEP 

My heart so tired — it scarcely stirred 

Within its cage — a drooping bird, 

The heavy care — the midnight gloom 

Had filled the space of darkened room; 

I lay with eyes that drooped with pain, 

With eyes that wept — and wept in vain ; 

I tho't of day sadly passed, 

Of hopes o'erthrown — of joys o'ercast, 

My spirit sobbed "If there could be 

Just one dear friend to comfort me!" 

A soothing presence in the gloom, 

A soft light in the silent room, 

A presence moved with lightest tread, 

White robed, and paused beside my bed 

He came and touched with pitying care 

My heated brain and heavy hair; 

He looked so pure — so calm — so mild, 

I felt the restfulness of child 

Who just escaped from sore alarms 

Lies sheltered in its mother's arms, 

He smoothed my bed with crooning song, 

My woes became a fading throng 

And panoramic left the room — 

A peaceful charm dispelled the gloom 

The Good above had heard my prayer, 

Had sent dear friend to watch with care, 

Had sent sweet friend with loving eyes 

Whose home of birth is Paradise — 

My eyes no longer droop to weep 

Thou't with me — best of friends — oh, Sleep! 



52 



UNAWARES 

In the morning came the sobbing of a sad heart 

at my door 
And a voice that said "I've journeyed till my feet 

are tired and sore, 
Let me in for just a moment — let me rest upon 

your bed, 
Just a short while will be helpful to my weary 

aching head;" 
Quick I turned to smooth the pillow, for the wind 

was bleak and wild, 
And I said "Come in my chamber — rest your 

weary head my child!" 
Softly stole the needed slumber as I watched the 

sleeper fair, 
And I fancied that a halo shone above her yellow 

hair; 
Soon she waked with grateful glances in her blue 

eyes lifted up 
As I gave to her refreshment in the heart warm 

friendly cup; 
"Now" she said "my feet are rested — I must go 

appointed way, 
But I'll carry this remembrance till the close of 

latest day." 

Busy life shut out the picture as I took my way 

along, 
Each day bro't its meted duty — sometimes sob 

and sometimes song, 
Till at last the moment found me when I wept in 

wild depair, 
For the sorrow that had reached me, seemed 

more than I could bear, 



53 



Discord voices all around me, but above the 

madd'ning din 
Came a low voice at my doorway "You are tired 

— I must come in!" 

Then there stood before me smiling, one whose 

hand I gladly prest, 
And the blue eyes shone with comfort as I lay 

upon her breast; 
"In the morning, I was weary" with soft voice 

this dear one said, 
"And you smoothed my pillow gently as I lay 

upon your bed, 
Now when you are cold and lonely and for cheer 

so sadly yearn 
And the evening sun is fading, it has come to be 

my turn." 
Then I gazed — my sobbing silenced as 1 kissed 

the yellow hair 
Of the Angel whom at morning I had sheltered 

unaware! 

GRANDMA'S CARPET 

Grandma's carpet was hanging out in the morn- 
ing sun, 
With curious eyes, I scanned it — so bright and 

neatly done, 
"Grandma," I said you surely worked many a 

weary day 
Ere formed this work so lovely to put complete 

away; 
You surely found much trouble to blend with 

wondrous skill 
Colors in happy contrast to please your earnest 

will, 

54 



Then besides, It has cost you many dollars I 

know 
To buy the gay materials that make such brilliant 

show; 
Grandma smiling answers, "Well, really I never 

thought 
Of cost or trouble either while I that carpet 

wrought, 
I never spent upon it, hours of working day, 
Merely pieced together when work was laid away 
Odds and ends of material — odds and ends of 

time, 
Never cost a dollar — grew as a Poet's rhyme, 
I've never missed the moments — odds and ends 

you know, 
Now it is a pleasure to view their pretty show!" 

I went to the mill next morning to earn daily 

bread, 
While I watched the shuttles, song came into my 

head, 
Odds and ends came blended — odds and ends of 

time, 
Till I've made this fabric pretty in Poet's rhyme; 
While sun is shining, you praise the colors bright 
Due to grandma's work, I please your mental 

sight; 
Now, like me at eve, you sure can plainly see, 
Odds and ends together may bright and valued 

be. 



55 



MISFORTUNE 

The thing's we do are only a few 

Of the things we intended to do, 

The worries we have are chiefly about the trou- 
bles we fancy in view 

That never were real, and never will be, tho' we 
hustle thro' right and wrong 

To meet troubles we will never meet at all, in bat- 
tle or mart or song; 

I wonder if ever there was a man — and of course 
I mean woman too, 

Who never hunted for fancied grief and for some- 
thing to blame and to rue ; 

'Tis a curious streak in the human-kind — this 
seeking Misfortune's door, 

And knocking and thumping as if in fear, she 
has surely something in store 

When maybe she is quietly fast asleep, or reading 
some book alone, 

Or maybe off on a fishing lark, she's enjoying 
some sport of her own — 

I think as a general thing she comes very much 
as a Poet's rhyme 

And there's nothing more foolish than hunting 
her up out of her own good time, 

So I am determined from day to day, to hold this 
my unchanging plan 

To look for her never a single time, but to dodge 
her all that I can; 

She may come if she wishes — I don't invite a lady 
of such a mood, 

Tho' some assert she is a teacher rare and her 
lessons are very good; 



56 



Well, I have been her pupil once or twice — she 
has given good lore to me, 

Tho' she always comes as a volunteer, she is al- 
ways sure of her fee! 

Well, I pay when I must and that is all, but it is 
quite enough to bear 

So I simply avoid her all that I can at all times 
and everywhere — 

I will surely never meet her again the remainder 
of life's brief day 

If she'll only wait till I'm ready to start to meet 
her on the way! 

I. O. O. F. 

I watched the sun arising 

Out of the misty east, 
The music and wine of Nature 

Came with the early feast, 
I quaffed the spirit nectar 

I bathed my brow in light 
That comes to banish the darkness 

And gloomy powers of Night, 
Clasped my hands in rapture 

I thanked for the moment's good, 
And said " Tis surely blessed 

To be of this Brotherhood!" 

As day advanced and traffic 

And the noise of the town began, 
I heard the angry voicing 

Of man to his fellow man, 
My spirit sank within me, 

The spirit that erst had soared, 
Had trilled in Nature's concert 

And had rapturously adored; 

5Z 



"Alas!" I cried in wonder, 
"Why is it that every good 

Blends not in daily routine 
Of our human Brotherhood?" 

Then came an hour still later 

I stood watching a pageant go, 
Men with royal ensigna 

And with measured step and slow, 
"I. O. O. F." on their banner 

And I blessed them when they spoke, 
I felt once more a freedom 

From every burdensome yoke, 
Their words from hearts outspoken 

Bro't hope with its comforting near, 
I knew they meant to lighten 

The burden that banishes cheer; 
God bless the noble Order, 

God grant to them every good, 
Till hour we dwell together 

In Heaven's great Brotherhood! 

"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN" 

True words are these from Poet's pen 
The saddest are "It might have been," 
True words indeed, as good as gold — 
Nevertheless — a truth half told 
We slept while Joy with Love went by 
And 'woke in loneliness to sigh; 
We dashed away the cup of Fame, 
And staggered on 'neath cloud of blame 
Tore from our forehead, wreath of light 
Only our sorrow held in sight; 
Ah, yes, 'tis true "of tongue or pen 
Saddest words are "It Might have been." 

58 



But as we slept, temptation passed, 

We heard no sound of tempest blast, 

We saw no pitfall yawning near 

Nor felt the wing of threatened fear, 

Cyclone came and we never knew, 

Darkness threatened our sky so blue, 

Angel of death above our heart 

Held lightly poised his fatal dart, 

Ships that might have been wrecked came back 

Safe and sound o'er the briny track; 

Children whom we had mourned as lost 

Came home all safe, tho' tempest tost, 

We kissed the lips with rare delight — 

Lips that might have been cold and white; 

Tis not all truth "of tongue or pen" 

Saddest of words "It might have been." 

TO ESTELLE ANNA METZGER ON HER 
BAPTISMAL DAY 

In the twilight, I am dreaming — 

Gone is all the sunset glow, 
And before my mental vision 

Many pictures come and go, 
And among the sweetest — purest, 

Is the chapel's sacred shrine 
With the white robed little maiden 

Crowned with beauty all divine, 
Crowned with innocence unsullied, 

Crowned with truth and hope and love, 
While the spirit of Baptism 

Floats with blessing from above; 
Ah, dear little one so lovely 

Filled with truth and filled with grace, 
While today the sun was shining 

On thy fair baptismal place; 

59 



Go, shine forth among the millions 

All thy days of passing life, 
Bear the light of faith within thee 

It will guide in every strife, 
Weal and woe will surely find thee, 

But the mem'ry of to-day 
Star-like still shall ever lead thee 
On life's changeful, mystic way, 
Keep thy faith and hope forever, 

Let not cloud dispel the glow 
Of the love within thee burning 

On the way that thou shalt go, 
Heaven be kind to thee, sweet maiden, 

Wear the truth within thy breast 
'Till the Angels beckoning, call thee — 

Till thy day of final rest! 

STITCHING 

'Tis a quilt I am making for charity fair — 
The young and the bright and the gay will be 

there, 
But somewhere I've read, and I know 'tis no 

dream 
That "many a sorrow is served in a seam." 

The ladies will praise all my stitches so fine 
And think I am glad that such skill can be mine, 
I think well, perhaps that some motherless one 
May sleep 'neath this cover so skillfully done, 
I kiss the young brow and sew as I dream 
Of the sorrow I sew in beautiful seam! 

I think well perhaps the widowed may lie 
Beneath this bright cover with sob and with sigh; 
Tear drops unbidden have come in my dream, 
I know of the sorrow I sew in the seam. 

60 



I think well perhaps the childless may sleep 
While her heart is awake o'er bed dark and deep, 
I lift my dim eyes — I've touched a sore theme 
I feel all the sorrow that's sewed in the seam. 
I think well perhaps this cover may rest 
Over fingers light clasped on cold pulseless 

breast; 
I pause in my stitching — this you may deem 
That "many a sorrow is sewed in a seam!" 

"MILLS OF THE GODS" 

"The mills of the Gods are grinding" 

With a force that is silent and slow, 

We pass and repass anear them 

By the river's rhymethical flow, 

And we think we turn the paddles 

While we deem that the gist which we bring, 

Will be food for coming millions 

And that man is forever the king; 

We watch and we wait and struggle, 

Worrying under our loads of grain 

With not a thought that our labor 

May all be but an effort vain, 

We may tug and sweat and worry 

By the river's rhymethical chime, 

We may think we swell the music 

And we must rule for all coming time, 

But "The mills of the Gods are grinding 

And their grinding is sure and fine. " 

We think we manage the engine, 
We think that we govern the flood; 
We strut in a glow of effort 
Pursuing our fancies of good; 
We tug, we toil, and we worry, 

61 ' 



And we think we are straight and tall 

As we go with arms uplifted 

And we claim we are lords of all; 

But somehow our grist gets damaged 

And it rots in the blackened clay, 

As the flood of eternal power 

Still rolls on its mystical way; 

Oh, yes, we may fret and worry, 

We may measure our human line, 

But "the mills of the Gods are grinding, 

And they grind exceedingly fine." 

AT THE STATION 

We are speeding with rush and rumble, 

Blended pleasure and pain, 
While our Angel is at the station 

Waiting to flag the train. 

The mourner in his silent sorrow 
Watches each scene flash by, 

While the child of pleasure is smiling, 
Dreaming of cloudless sky. 

The dollars are clinking and clinking 

Traffic and trade go on 
And every man thinks of his profit 

And selfish good alone. 

The rustle of silk and of laces, 
Feathers of wealth and pride, 

All are there on a common level, 
Poverty close beside. 

The soldier is puffed with his glory, 
The merchant puffed with gold, 

62 



And each one is happily hoping 
For honors hundred fold. 

Still on rushes the train triumphant 
No thought of wreck or fall, 

While the Heaven above is guiding 
Marking the way of all! 

There is music and song and laughter 

And flash of wit divine, 
While glad lips are touching the chalice 

Sparling with royal wine. 

On rushes the train, and we know not, 

We merely guess the end, 
And the same compartment holds us 

We sit with foe and friend. 

But we know — ah, we know a moment 

Is near of joy or pain, 
When we shall reach the unknown station 

Where Fate will flag the train! 

AT LAST 

The child comes in with his broken toy — 

Comes in with his broken heart, 
He throws himself on his mother's breast 

For he knows she will take part 
Of the grief so wild — the pain so sharp 

And tears that so swiftly start, 
Anon, the sorrow is soothed away 

The child has fallen asleep, 
The mother holds to her loving heart 

The eyes that no longer weep; 
Oh, darling mother — so sweet — so sweet! 

63 



So true to your grieving boy, 
How calm he looks in your shelt'ring arms 
Forgetting his broken toy! 

His brother comes in with laugh and shout, 

He has won the prize at school; 
Ev'ry lesson, he knows by heart, 

He has never broken rule; 
He throws himself on his mother's breast 

And there in the twilight dim 
With soft caress and o'erflowing joy, 

She murmurs her praise to him; 
The stars come out in the blue above 

And the child is lulled to sleep, 
While the mother guards in loving arms 

His slumber so long and deep; 
How blest he looks in that silent hour, 

The struggle, the triumph past 
With wounded brother in mother's arms 

He lieth asleep at last! 

Dear mother Nature, I haste to you 

For the day is nearly done, 
On my path is shining solemn light 

Of my earthly setting sun, 
I know my brothers are hast'ning on, 

They come from the east and west 
Gathering to find a welcome sure 

And rest on thy changeless breast; 
Some come all broken and sad and sore, 

And some come with triumph song. 
Each knows you're waiting to welcome him, 

Your waiting will not be long; 
Oh, brother rejoicing! — you that weep, 

I join with you hand in hand, 
We seek the comfort of mother's arms 

6 4 



Altho' in a broken band — 
We come, oh, mother — we come to you, 

Hastening from earthly din 
In your dear old arms we'll find "the touch 

That maketh the whole world kin!" 

POEMS 

There's a poem written in ev'ry heart, 

Let the station be high or low, 
In the special train or the combrous cart 

As on separate ways we go; 
As he counts his gold with a pleasant chink 

The prosperous man often sighs 
While he thinks of the light in far off home, 

That grew dim under cloudless skies, 
He sighs for a moment, but still goes on 

While reckoning the precious gold, 
But his heart is filled with a treasure rare 

Far more precious — a hundred-fold, 
And the poet pulse in that rushing car 

To the sweetest music is stirred, 
Tho' never a line of his tho't is read 

And it never is told in word, 
But the poet tho't and the poet glow 

vSpring up till the sad tears start 
And the man tho' never aware of it 

Holds a poem within his heart. 

The poor man goes out to his daily toil, 

He is thinking of wife and child 
That must be sustained and that must be cheered 

Thro' poverty's threatenings wild; 
He knows — ah, he knows when the day is done 

And he wearily turns to go 
A frolicsome baby will shout and greet 

65 



The father so weary and slow, 
His supper will be on the glowing hearth 

Awaiting his hungering mood, 
And the tears of thankfulness dim his eyes 

As he tastes of the homely food, 
And he does not know of the muse that sings 

So deep in his grateful heart; 
But the man tho' never aware of it, 

Holds a poem within his heart. 



THE TWO 

The eldest son had the fine estate 

And the grand ancestral hall, 
He viewed the scene with rejoicing eyes 

And said "I am lord of all;" 
His father's stately bearing he wore, 

And eye that was clear and cold, 
He blew his bugle a sounding blast 

And his yeomen answered bold 
"We'll hold high revel tonight" he cried, 

"Ho! shout to the world my fame, 
The hall re-echoed and rang again 

While his yoeman swelled acclaims! 

The sound rolls out on the summer air, 

It swells on the early breeze, 
Then dies away in a murmur soft 

Under the grand old trees; 
The proud heir sat by his hearth that night 

And gazed at his lovely bride, 
His diamonds shone on her brow — and she 

Was daughter of wealth and pride; 
He sighed a sigh that was low and sad 

And he said "How blest it would be 

66 



If but one heart in this hour so bright 
Could throb with a love for me!" 

The youngest son had an humble cot 

Mid rocks by the lonely bay 
He echoed the voice of Nature wild 

As its scenes before him lay, 
He caught the rhyme of the rushing waves 

As it rose and fell again, 
The spirit within him answered back 

And sweet was the soft refrain; 
He had his mother's tender grace, 

And an eye that was gentle and sweet, 
His spirits uttered its thrilling words 

While the sea roared at his feet, 
The tide went out, and the tide came in 

And his was no bugle call; 
He sang as a bird amid the rocks 

He loved — he sang — that was all, 
Never tho't of shout of fame, 

He only saw and he smiled 
With a poet's tho't and poet song, 

And the grace of untaught child; 
His tho't tho' gentle was heard afar, 

It pierced thro' the stormy din; 
Altho' he had never dreamed of this 

And had sought no fame to win, 
He sang as the birds — sang as the sea, 

As he dreamed in twilight dim; 
No shout of acclaim — no dowered bride 

Crossed over the wave to him, 
A loving spirit was in his breast, 

He had simply done his part, 
And he had won — ah, yes, he had won 

The love of one faithful heart. 



6 7 



THE PROBLEM 

The night was dreary — so cold — so cold, 

And the storm wind fierce and wild, 
Alone we were in that solemn hour, 

Myself and a little child; 
Thank God, she slept in her snowy cot 

A smile on her dainty face, 
Her arms thrown over the coverlet 

In unconscious baby grace; 
But I, but I was so sick and tired, 

Had striven the whole day thro' 
With problem I vainly tried to solve, 

I did not know what to do ; 
At last, tears came to my weary eyes 

And I threw the pen aside, 
I might have sobbed — but the little child 

Waked up with wondering wide, 
She slipped from her cot in eager haste, 

She ran to my breast and there 
Cried out "Dear sister, you've worried long 

Why droop in such vain despair? 
Just come to bed — you will rest so nice, 

It will make you fresh and strong, 
'Tis midnight now — and the morning hour 

You know can't be very long, 
Let problem lie till the master comes, 

You know he is kind and true; 
He'll feel so sorry — as I do now 

And he'll solve the problem for you!" 

Ah, many a year since then has passed — 

The problem of life severe, 
I've bent o'er the work with struggling heart 

And many, many a tear; 
But now, sweet memory bring again 

68 



The form of that white-robed child, 
And I hear her whisper — feel her clasp 

Tho' tempest is howling wild; 
Long, long ago, she was laid to rest, 

Her spirit called back to God 
And I have quivered in mad despair 

Under the chastening rod; 
But to-night — to-night — there cometh peace 

More sweet than all else beside; 
Paper and pen, I have pushed away, 

The problem I've laid aside, 
I feel the force of those gentle words 

"Why worry the whole day thro' 
The Master will come in morning light 

And solve the problem for you!" 

SPIRIT OF SONG 

Oh, Spirit of Song, I sing to you, 

You have always sung to me 
Since my baby hands were gath'ring shells 

Far off by the roaring sea — 
Since my baby feet in grasses trod 

Where yellow the primrose grew, 
You whispered your words so soft and sweet 

My baby heart clung to you, 
I caught a light that no others felt, 

I looked thro' your gifted eyes, 
I saw thro' the floating clouds above 

The shining of Paradise; 
You came with me o'er Atlantic's wave 

As I crossed its tossing wild, 
When older grown, I had turned away 

From the toys that pleased the child ; 
You went with me as I climbed the hill, 

When my feet were tired and slow, 

69 



You kissed my lips and you touched my heart 

And I felt refreshing glow, 
You trod with me in the lowly vale 

When the night was dark and cold; 
My courage rose as I struggled on, 

I blessed you a hundred fold, 
This morn you come to my lowly cot, 

You're here with the birds and bees, 
There is no grandeur — there is no gold, 

I'd take in exchange for these; 
I go each day on the busy street 

And I join the stirring throng, 
You never leave me, oh, life-long friend, 

Oh, Spirit of glorious Song, 
The show and pomp of the proud go by. 

But the faces are all that I see, 
The eyes that speak from the struggling soul 

Are all that appeal to me; 
I know of it all — the hollow show 

And the hidden inward pain, 
I cling to you as you soothe my tho't 

With tender and soft refrain 
For all the goods and for all the gear 

That show in this world so strong, 
I would not give you — my life-long friend, 

Oh, gentle Spirit of Song! 
In all these years, you have been with me 

While my pulse responsive stirred, 
Never thro' all have you breathed to me 

An angry or bitter word. 
You knock at portal of every home, 

You sing to each human heart, 
But somehow they miss the gentle sound 

In noise of a passing cart; 
You smile at the door with blessing rare, 

But they heed the market din, 

7° 



They wish you would come to dwell with them, 
But they do not call you in! 

THE FLORIST 

I went one day to the florist's, 

My soul was in hungry mood; 
I longed for the breath of flowers 

To give me the nectar food, 
I wandered thro' all the pathways, 

I paused at the hot-house door, 
I sipped of the sacred chalice 

And I blessed it o'er and o'er, 
But somehow, the spirit's hunger 

Remained still unsatisfied, 
I sighed to myself and murmured 

"All is vain in this world so wide," 
I gathered the lovely blossoms 

And I freely paid my gold 
To the waiting smiling florist, 

As he thanked a hundred fold; 
I gathered the lovely flowers 

All sparkling with morning dew, 
And proudly carried them homeward 

For envying eyes to view; 
The hunger pain of my spirit 

Remained with its longing still, 
And I sighed "Ah, me, no pleasure 

Is bought by the human will!" 

I sat on my door steps idly, 
The flowers dropped from my hand, 

The choir of Nature was swelling, 
I echoed the anthem grand, 

Then somehow came anear me 
I drank of the nectar sweet, 

71 



And behold, there smiled a blossom 

Right close to my careless feet! 
I stooped, but I could not pluck it, 

It must live its little day; 
It bore me along on its fragrance 

To childhood so far away, 
I tho't of my darling mother, 

My father, and all the band, 
Some of them sleeping in silence 

And some with the world's loud band; 
I saw in that little blossom 

So bright in the morning dew 
A face of angelic beauty 

That early my spirit knew, 
The pain of my hunger vanished 

And I felt no longer poor, 
The sweet I had sought for vainly 

Was here at my cottage door! 



SETTLED 

You talk so much of your noble blood 

You addle my weary brain, 
You've mentioned its glory o'er and o'er 

I don't want to hear again. 

I cannot boast of heraldic birth 

Some time very long ago, 
A person named Noah started out 

With a big congested show. 

I've heard that my father Japhet was 

A rather unruly boy, 
But then no doubt, he was fair and sweet, 

His mother's special joy. 

72 



Where the mix came in from which I sprung 

Is problem too deep for me, 
But then I'm only of common blood 

Without an ancestral tree. 

Don't bother me any more I pray, 

I am tired and claim a rest, 
I'm here as I came from hand of God, 

Whether good, better or best. 

I yield to your claim — that's settled now, 

The contest is overthrown, 
When old Noah sailed — your monkey sire 
Hung by his tail a little higher 

In tree of the torrid zone! 



ONE 

Only one among the millions 
And your stay can not be long, 

But you have power within you — 
Pow'r of sword or pow'r of song; 

Use your strength and use it grandly, 
Lift your arm against the wrong! 

Do not heed the sneering minion 
In the trappings of his pride, 

Do not stand afar off idle 
While the Cause is crucified. 

Here you are as God assigned you, 
Here you are with sacred trust, 

Stand by Right altho' she weaken 
And her banner trails the dust! 



73 



Only one among the millions, 
One alone you need not stand 

Song or sword is sharp within you, 
One can lead a mighty band! 

Never shrink and never falter, 
Speed the Right and never wait, 

Till you know reward will crown you, 
Leave that to unerring Fate ! 

It is yours to lift the weapon 

And to strike from shoulder bold, 

Tis your birthright grand within you, 
Yield it not for gear or gold! 

Mess of pottage may be offered, 
Scorn away the worthless thing, 

Sword or song — whiche'er is in you 
Lift it high and let it ring! 

Only one among the millions 
And your stay can not be long, 

But for Right, arise and struggle 
With the sword or with the song; 

Wait not till the day of triumph 
Till the Cause is safe and strong! 

ANGEL VOICES 

Tonight you are lying aweary 

The day of your labor is done, 
And you watch the clouds that are banking 

Where has vanished the setting sun. 

All day you have toiled and you've worried, 
And all day you have wished for rest, 

74 



When the heat and the toil were over 
And the sun gone down in the west. 

In your breast there were pulses throbbing 

That never were understood 
As you yearned for a holy mission 

With a power for every good. 

And you watched for the flaming banner, 
But your gazed with mistaken eyes, 

Still list'ning and waiting and hoping 
For a message from Paradise. 

You were list'ning for voices idly 

Afar off in the sunlit blue 
And you longed for some sacred mission, 

Some beautiful work you could do. 

At your door was the gentle knocking, 
At your door were the voices sweet, 

You lost the sound in the rushing noise 
Of the turbulent city street. 

Alas! if you had only listened 

To the voices at your door, 
Tonight you would know the quiet 

That you have wished for o'er and o'er, 
And the spell of Angel voices 

That forever will come no more! 

WOODVILLE, MISS. 

Gem-like gleams the little city 

Set amid the grand old trees, 
Glad with bird song and the freshness 

Of the Gulf's sweet southern breeze. 

75 



Long ago in early girlhood 

Here I came across the sea, 
Sad — alone, and doubly orphaned, 

Seeking work and hope in thee. 

Fifty years with all their changes, 
Moments swift and moments slow, 

I have passed — still working, waiting 
In life's panoramic show. 

In your homes I found a shelter, 

Found a shelter kind and fair, 
And my soul was soothed and strengthened- 

For the young do not despair. 

Here beneath your trees I've listened 

As the Angel bro't me song, 
Friendly eyes and greeting met me 

Daily in your busy throng. 

Woodville dear, the hour is coming 

Near at hand it seems to me, 
When the Angel Death will whisper 

I must say Farewell to thee. 

In my young life's early sorrow 
True hearts here I surely found, 

And my spirit is forever 

To your children fondly bound. 

All that now I hope or wish for 
When my sun sinks in the west, 

Is that you will hold and shelter 
In your shades, my dreamless rest! 



76 



THE DESPOT 

The house is there with its gardens rare 
And its terraces sloped to the sea, 

And the glorious trill of southern bird 
Floats out from the waving tree. 

The master of all is nobleman, 

Noble in heart and in brain, 
He feels the joys of prosperous life 

And the sting of hidden pain. 

He has gold and gear, and firmly holds 

And rules with an iron hand, 
And only a few that near him be 

His odd moods can understand, 
His sons are brave and his daughters fair 

They throng in his lofty hall; 
He proudly feels that his glory's great, 

For he is the lord of all ! 
But the babe asleep in its mother's arms, 

The babe with its dreamy eyes 
Is the greatest power in that grand realm 

And triumphs without disguise! 
The courtiers praise and the minstrels sing, 

They answer the master's call; 
But sceptre of love is in the hands 

Of the littlest child of all! 

Never a one disputes his claim, 

And never a one is there 
That would break sceptre in baby's hands 

Or crown on his sunny hair; 
He can check with coo the passion wild 

Of the master's fiercest mood, 



77 



His smile by courtiers and minstrels all 

Is perfectly understood 
In every breast, be it high or low, 

In cabin or lofty hall; 
There's pulse that throbs with allegiance sweet 

For the littlest child of all ! 

Go where you may on land or sea 

You will find it still the same, 
There's no one to lift a rebel hand 

Or to utter word of blame; 
The king and peasant alike rejoice 

In palace or humble cot, 
And a cry goes up from lonely hearth 

Where little despot is not! 

THE PROMISED LAND 

Altho' 'twas Moses who led the band, 
He did not enter the Promised Land, 
Altho' Columbus first touched this ground 
He never supposed what he had found; 
Altho' the Poet sang "Home, sweet Home" 
Homeless — an exile he had to roam; 
Altho' Napoleon shook every crown, 
His last hours passed in a prison's frown; 
Go where you will, it is all the same, 
The soldier's glory — the poet's fame, 
With eager lips they await the fruit 
Forgetting serpent about the root — 
So much we learn and so much we know 
Of tempting things with alluring show, 
I sometimes wonder we do not wait 
Instead of thumping at Fortune's gate, 
I sometimes wonder why all this strife 
That stirs and weakens thro' human life. 

78 




CHARLES HERBERT BAKER 



This weary dragging of endless chain; 
I sometimes wonder why peace and rest 
Is never complete in human breast, 
I turn to the stars — they seem to shine 
With light of happiness — pure, divine; 
I wonder if e'er they long to fall 
And be with us on this mundane ball; 
I wonder if all that's great and grand, 
They sometimes struggle to understand, 
Then fail and sigh as the earth born do 
Envying them in their dome so blue; 
I wonder of all thro' the system great 
Can be found completely happy state; 
I wonder, wonder and sigh to think 
That all things tremble on doubtful brink, 
Still reaching forward — both man and star, 
Wondering, wandering — parted far, 
And a yearning wish in soul to know 
Whence come the stirrings that in us glow, 
Why is it we ne'er can understand, 
We touch, but don't enter Promised Land! 

POSTMAN 

I stroll thro' the streets of the city 

Scanning the faces I meet, 
And I hear the postman's whistle, 

Its shrill call adown the street, 
And I notice that as he passes 

At window and open door 
There are anxious faces watching, 

That often have watched before; 
I look in the eyes alighted 

As he stops at the open gate, 
And the hand outstretched to welcome 

The longed for missive of Fate; 

79 



Some ope with trembling fingers, 

Still hoping, but still in fear, 
For so often — so often the postman 

Has bro't them the bitter tear; 
I glanced at the young and the lovely — 

With never a tho't of pain, 
Glad grasping the welcome missive 

While the whistle sounds again; 
I look at despairing figure 

Turning from the gate away, 
I hear the sigh from the bosom, 

"No letter for me to-day!" 
The Czar in his unbounded grandeur, 

Holds rule o'er a countless throng, 
The poet sings in his quiet hour 

A nation's entrancing song. 
The beauty holds with a magic art 

The pulses of greatest men, 
And the triumph of war is quickly heard 

And echoed from glen to glen, 
Oh, power is here, power is there 

The power of the song and the sword, 
And men risk lives at a master touch 

Or the sound of a master word; 
Oh, powers there are — oh, powers that shake 

The world with a mighty will, 
But never a greater power holds sway 

Than the postman's whistle shrill! 



80 



THE LAST MILE 

The last mile is always longest 

When the goal is plainly in sight, 
The goal for which we have struggled 

In our eagerness day and night; 
We have toiled in the misty morn, 

We have reached 'neath the blazing noon, 
And now that the sun is setting 

We shall be in our harbor soon, 
The shout of the sailors cheering 

Floats up with a happy sound, 
We know that the shore we're nearing, 

And we know we are homeward bound; 
We have hoped for this always — ever 

Amid triumph or fail or fall. 
The way was long, but this last mile 

Is surely the longest of all! 

The bay in sight with its welcome, 

With its shelter and happy rest, 
The smiles of dear ones are waiting, 

The smiles that we value as best; 
For many and many a year 

We have been so far away, 
Now in sight is the dear old home 

And the long remembered bay; 
Once more in dream we are dancing 

Over the glittering sand, 
With lovers of early childhood 

Linked in a frolicsome band. 

The toil of the voyage ended 
We are tired of the ocean roar, 

We know that our steps are nearing 
The path to our mother's door; 

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Haste on with spread sail oh, seamen, 

While is swelling your sea taught song, 
Our voyage has been so stormy 

And our dangers have been so long; 
Haste on — no delay we pray you, 

We are list'ning our sister's call, 
And this last mile of the voyage 

Is surely the longest of all! 



WHY? 

Why are the stones so cold and rough 
Mixed with the sloppy clay? 

Why must my wounded feet plod on 
Over the tiresome way? 

Why comes the hour when grasses soft 
Yield to my springing tread, 

While sky so clear and singing birds 
Make music overhead? 

Why do I faint with drooping heart 

On desert sands alone? 
Why when I need a little bread 

I only find a stone? 

Why do I reach oases fair 
And lie 'neath shadying palm 

Spread before me strengthening feast 
My spirit touched with balm? 

Why do I toss on waters dark, 

No friendly sail in sight; 
Lightning flashing from angry sky 

And thunder shocks the night? 

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Why comes change and I see the shore 

And float o'er sunny sea, 
And sparkling waves around my bark 

Bring voices sweet to me? 

Why do I lie in shudd'ring fear 

Alone in silent room 
With not a star to meet my eye 

Or brighten hour of gloom? 

Why comes the hour when light shines in 

As clouds are swept away, 
And I watch eastern gates ajar 

Admitting King of Day? 

Why is it sometimes heart is sad, 

Drags weary, slow and sore, 
Never a friend or word of love 

To enter broken door? 

Why comes the hour when Guardian bright 

Comes with illumined wing, 
Whisp'ring soft to my weary brain 

Song that I gladly sing? 

Why do I meet the scowling eyes, 

Shrink from repelling hand; 
Why do I meet the sneering blame 

I cannot understand? 

Why comes an hour when loving eyes 

Look in my soul and see 
Harp that trembles to ev'ry touch 

That comes on changeful breeze? 



83 



Why is it — why are all these things, 

Why is it ordered so, 
I follow fate that seems so strange, 

I surely do not know. 

But over all — beyond it all 

Eastern gate is ajar, 
And tho' the midnight hour is here 

The morn can not be far. 

So I seek not to understand 

The way I erring go, 
God holds the plan — it matters not 

His plan I do not know! 

THE ENGINEER 

Hear the switching — hear the rattling, 
Hear the whistle of the train, 

Engineer is at the throttle 
And our start will be amain. 

Never mind what he is doing, 
In his work don't seek a part, 

Keep your seat and read your daily, 
Keep you busy brain and heart. 

Passenger on right is fuming, 

Passenger on left is cold, 
Passenger who sits beside you 

May be timid — may be bold. 

Needn't watch the skies above you, 
They're all right thro' shine or shower, 

You've no call to rule their moving, 
Leave them to a higher Power! 

8 4 



Are the rails quite safe and steady, 
Can you mend or make them go ; 

Sit you still and read your daily, 
Let the wheels go fast or slow. 

Read and think — prepare for action, 
Be it prose or be it rhyme; 

Just be quiet, do your thinking, 
Speed your way and bide your time. 

There may be a wreck impending, 

Can you stop it if you try, 
Engineer is at the throttle 

Noting all that passes by. 

Do you think you can assist him? 

How he'd smile if you but stirred 
In your place to lift a finger 

Or to give a warning word. 

Passengers are all anear you. 

Think and wait — the hour is near, 

You may lift the broken-hearted, 
You may check the falling tear. 

You may joy with spirits happy, 
Work you'll surely find to do, 

Engineer is at the throttle 

And he needs no help from you. 

Read your daily — watch your chances, 
They will come in prose or rhyme, 

Work awaits you — just be patient, 
Think and wait and bide vour time! 



8s 



WOMAN 

In many a lowly cabin 

Where life's struggle is sore 
And the daily labor barely 

Keeps the wolf from the door, 
And woman the earnest toiler 

Working with honest will, 
There day after day is bending 

The nation to her will. 
She says to her sons around her, 

Hard is the bread we eat, 
Sometime perhaps in the future 

Your fare may be more sweet, 
But never uplift a finger 

To touch dishonest gains, 
For better far than dishonor 

Are even rags and chains; 
Meet every man as a brother 

Until you know his part, 
Then if he be false or craven, 

Strike him out from your heart, 
If ever your county need you, 

Go forth with all your might, 
Uphold her banner unflinching 

And battle for her right, 
And if e'er you rise to glory 

Never look back with shame 
To your mother's lowly cabin, 

Your father's humble name, 
Still hold them forever sacred, 

Defend them if you must, 
And if any man defame them 

Hurl him into the dust!" 
And so in the lowly cabin 

Toiling and waiting still, 

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Woman is quietly bending 
The nation to her will! 

In many a lordly mansion 

Where gold and jewels shine, 
Where the table spread with plenty- 
Sparkles with royal wine, 
Where peace and pleasure are ever 

Sweetly hovering near, 
Where a want has never entered, 

Nor yet of want the fear, 
Woman the high and noble, 

Wearing and waiting still 
There day after day is bending 

The nation to her will; 
She calls to her sons around her, 

Points to the skies so blue 
"Onward and upward your strivings 

To be — to dare — to do; 
Never to crown or to sceptre, 

Cower or bend the knee 
And still hold yourselves forever 

As children of the free! 
As man upon man look boldly, 

Band with the true and good, 
Remember the honest workman 

Is of your brotherhood; 
If ever your country need you 

Think not of rank or pride, 
Strike fearlessly for her honor, 

Tho' pain and death betide; 
My garb is of costly velvet, 

Honored am I, but then 
My greatest bliss is in trusting 

That you'll be worthy men ; 
And so in the lordly mansion 

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Wearing and waiting still, 
Woman is quietly bending 
The nation to her will! 

Not within the haunts of fashion, 

Not in the ball room glare, 
Is seen this best of women, 

The fairest of the fair ! 
Never seeking admiration 

In lecture's dazzling hall 
You will find this sweetest woman, 

Dearest and best of all; 
But at home amid her children 

With daily toil and care, 
Stone upon stone she is building 

A nation strong and fair; 
Her sons from cot and from mansion 

Spring forth at country's call, 
With shoulder to shoulder steady 

To triumph or to fall, 
And this is true woman's leading 

Her praise our hearts must fill, 
How blest is the glorious nation 

Led by her royal will! 

UNCLE SAM 

Of all the wonderful things on earth 

Since the eldest son of Adam had birth, 

Most wonderful thing we ever knew 

Was when the Grey linked arms with the Blue; 

There's never ruler but Uncle Sam 

That wouldn't have crushed with awful slam 

His rebel sons as they flourished by, 

Floating their flag in the summer sky, 

Shouting their pean of rebel cheer 



With their yankee brothers joining near 
With loud applause for the rebel band 
Together as one they fill the land 
With a joyous shout, for each can say 
"We've never been whipped, and never may!" 

Oh, Crowns of Europe, you could not bear 
One rebel shout on your tainted air, 
Fire and imprisonment, sword and gun 
Would quickly silence a rebel son; 
But here, thank God, in this land so free 
'Tis honor to strike for Liberty! 
Mistake may be, but its all the same, 
The arm of honor is safe from shame ; 
So as I stood 'mid the Blue and Grey, 
I blessed forever the glorious day 
When both could mingle and be as one, 
No grander sight since the world begun; 
Hurrah! hurrah for our Uncle Sam, 
For all his foemen — a mighty — slam! 



MIDNIGHT 

I lie awake in the solemn hour 

Of the midnight dark and deep, 
The cares that perplexed my soul to-day 

Have banished the balm of sleep; 
I think of the morn with its rosy hours, 

Its sky so clear and so blue, 
And my careless steps that crushed the flowers 

Smiling in shimmering dew, 
I think of my playmate sweet — so sweet, 

The sun on her yellow hair, 
And a light in eyes from Heaven caught 

To make the fair scene more fair. 



89 



I turn away from this spotless page 

To toil with my fellow men, 
I build my castles, I sail my ships, 

I'm happy and prospered then 
I grasp with an eager grasp the gold 

Which I strive so hard to win, 
While I stretch my hands for more and more 

And more comes gathering in; 
Ah, yes, I am great and grand and good, 

All honor pours in so free, 
But the ship — alas! the ship was wrecked, 

Swift bringing my bride to me ! 

The evening comes and the sun goes down, 

And I see the stars arise, 
They seem to me as the sentinels 

On towers of Paradise, 
I feel the beauty and peace and power 

Still ruling above us all, 
The yearning heart is unsatisfied 

And trembles amid it all, 
I think of promise of early morn 

When my darling played with me, 
I think of her lovely eyes now closed 

Low, under our garden tree, 
I think of the strife of glowing noon, 

I think of the shining gold 
That paid for effort of heart and brain 

In profit a hundred fold, 
I think of all in this midnight hour, 

For my heart has need of balm, 
Tho' spirit voices are sweet and soft 

I yield to influence calm 
Sleep smoothes my pillow, I turn away 

From the pain, regret and strife, 



90 



For I feel that morn will bring to me 
Better and happier life. 

Ah, is there heart in this wide, wide world 

That escapes the midnight gloom, 
The bitter thought and the wild regret 

That comes to the darkened room? 
Oh, you who are watching — you who grieve 

As your last sleep ends the strife, 
Just smile and think of coming morn — 

Better and happier life. \ 

NO PAIN, NO PLEASURE 

If our paths were always 'neath sunny skies 

And never a storm cloud near, 
If our days and nights were forever calm, 

If heart had never a fear, 
If we plucked our roses in idle joy 

Forever from thornless stem, 
If forever applauses met our ears 

And smiles met our changeless ken, 
If only the right we could always meet 

And never a thought of wrong, 
If all pain were banished and only bliss 

Remained for our daily song, 
It does seem to me that we'd surely tire 

Of such constant joys in view, 
There'd never be any pleasure in life 

If there wasn't misery too! 

For how could the moment of rest be sweet 

If never fatigue or toil, 
Or how could the freedom from dust be felt 

If never annoying soil, 
And how could we value the gift of Love 

91 



If hatred had never been, 
And how could we value the friend anear, 

If seas had not rolled between; 
How could we give thanks with a fervent soul 

For our need of earthly good 
If sorrow and pain and o'erwhelming grief 

We never had understood, 
And so we thank God for the burden here, 

For He guides with wisdom true; 
He knows there would be no pleasure in life 

If there wasn't misery too! 

THE COVER 

That book is so lovely, dear father, 

Do buy it! I eagerly cried; 
I'll read it with care and I'll keep it, 

It must be all charming inside; 
My father was quiet and stately, 

His temples just showing the grey, 
But his eye had quizical twinkle 

As he bought the volume that day; 
" 'Tis yours, my fair maiden" he answered, 

"Your choosing may not be the best; 
It pleases you, so I have bought it, 

The future, its merits will test, 
But when you grow older and wiser 

You will learn as I learned long ago, 
The book we most lovingly cherish 

Not always has cover of show;" 
Scarce heeding the words that he uttered 

I went by his side down the street 
With feeling of gladsome possession 

Of a volume wondrously sweet; 
Well! after the leaves I examined 

At close of that very same day, 
With murmur of deep disappointment 
92 



I laid the bright volume away, 
If only I'd taken that lesson 

And carried it into my life, 
I might have missed many an error 

And many a sorrow and strife, 
For over and over in folly 

I've looked at the brilliant outside, 
My soul altogether enchanted 

By trappings of beauty and pride, 
And over and over in sadness 

I've wept at the close of the day, 
When I saw my error and weakness 

And laid the bright vision away, 
And now in the evening I ponder 

O'er fancies so bright and so gay, 
While memory brings up my father — 

His temples just showing the gray! 



MY DREAM 

Last night in a dream of beauty 
I trod amid Eden's bowers, 

My soul was bathed in the sunlight 
And I drank the breath of flowers. 

I touched the radiant garments 
Of Spirits released from sin, 

And I caught the words of gladness 
Loud welcoming pilgrims in. 

Then I saw the harps of glory, 
And I heard the angels sing, 

And the choirs of triumph shouting 
All honor unto the King! 



93 



I saw the wonderful banners 
Wave over the thrones of gold, 

And the light of all earth's visions 
Surpassed a million fold. 

I paused where a group was gathered- 

The loveliest in the place, 
And one among them glorious 

And crowned with every grace. 

Softly, I ventured to whisper 
"That man has wonderful fame, 

Oh Guardian Spirit beside me 
Tell me that bright one's name. 

'Tis written in song and story 
And this I certainly know," 

But the Angel smiling answered 
"My child, it is not so." 

His stay on your earth was toilsome 
And poverty pinched, but then 

His record with us is written, 
He was kind to his fellow men. 

He never knew till this moment 
That a crown or robe could be 

For a soul so unpretending — 
A man so poor as he." 

Then I saw the children gather, 
And I heard the bright ones sing 

All honor and praise forever 
And glory to our King! 



94 



And joy to the new crowned spirits, 
Glad welcome to all, and then 

A pean shout for the dear one 
Most kind to his fellow men! 

THE BEST THING TO DO 

The very best thing to hold in view 

Is the work that Nature cut out for you. 

If you can skillfully guide the plow, 

Just pull off your coat and hitch up right now, 

It may be you have a balky mule 

That never has brayed in a city school; 

You need not care, for we understand 

In all the wide realm of this mighty land, 

There's never a better man than he 

Who whistling treads over dewy lea 

And feeds his cattle and plants his corn; 

No! never a mightier man was born! 

If you've the gift of persuasive speech 

With words that the heart of a jury reach, 

Don't muddle your brain with doctor's lore — 

Never thump or pound at the muse's door, 

Whatever you do, don't try to be 

A poet — for all that is vanity, 

If it isn't in you, it can't come out. 

Do not think you sing when you merely shout. 

Look in you nature and find your part, 

Then follow it thro' with an earnest heart, 

You're sure to win if you only see 

What Nature intended that you should be. 

Just be yourself if you would succeed, 
For to be some other there is no need, 
There's room for you and there's room for all 

95 



Who hear as God wills it, true Nature's call. 
If you think you're low, and would be great 
Just leave all that in the hands of Fate ; 
You may mount up or you may slip down, 
You may bear the cross or wear the crown, 
But in either case, I tell you now, 
There is never wreath for your aching brow, 
If you strive to be another man 
And struggle against old Nature's plan; 
To be successful, just hold in view 
The work that Nature cut out for you, 
You will win the race, tho' far the end, 
And come out victor, my honest friend! 

OLD AND POOR 

Two pretty maidens came down the street 

With merry chatter and tripping feet, 

Both of them lovely — they plainly showed 

The care that riches and love bestowed, 

Each seemed to be of a happy band, 

Each held a rose in her dainty hand; 

A woman came from the other way, 

Her figure bent, and her tresses gray, 

Her dress was patched and her shoes were worn, 

The cape around her neck was slightly torn. 

In each detail, I could plainly see 

The painful pinching of poverty — 

Said one of the maidens "What a fright, 

Such a wrinkled face — such sorry sight — 

If I were so ugly, old and poor, 

I'd stay at home — I am very sure." 

The other maiden looked pained and said 
"I feel so sorry — that old grey head 
And that drooping form appeal to me, 

96 



My spirit goes out in sympathy; 

My mamma says that it is not right 

A human being to scorn or slight, 

This woman is sad — I am very sure, 

I'll give her my rose — she's old and poor." 

I saw the old woman's startled face, 
Astonished, she met this simple grace, 
She took the rose — not a word she said, 
But slowly trembled the old gray head ; 
A strange light shone in her faded eyes, 
I think 'twas noticed in Paradise; 
The lips moved slightly as if in prayer, 
I think the angels were list'ning there; 
As the maidens passed with tripping feet, 
The woman moved slowly up the street ; 
I think a spirit bore up on air 
From faded lips, a blessing and prayer, 
And I seemed to read on page of white 
Beyond the blue, in the far off light 
These words recorded of maiden sweet 
With gentle grace gone down the street; 
I think the angels in realms so fair 
Sped blessedness to the maiden fair 
Who said "the woman is sad I'm sure, 
I'll give her my rose — she's old and poor!" 

TACKING 

The wind that brings one vessel in 

Will waft another out, 
If earnest seamen pull the ropes 

And skillful "tack about", 
The lazy lubber who lies on deck 

Giving the breeze full sway, 
Has never right to moan and cry 

97 



If vessel go astray; 
He blames his luck and stormy winds, 

Neglects to grasp the rope, 
He looks for change, and idly waits, 

Cherishing mocking hope. 
He hears the song of seamen brave, 

They tug and pull and try 
To tack the sails, they wish to turn 

While howling winds rush by; 
They know full well — and he should know 

As swift they tack about, 
The wind that brings one vessel in 

Will waft another out! 

Come hours of darkness — hours of storm 

That baffle human will, 
That tear the sails from splintered mast 

And mock the sailor's skill; 
Not our mission to alter that, 

God gives us brawn and brain, 
He gives the ropes and gives the sail 

And power not all in vain ; 
He gives the winds which shape our course 

Whatever roaring din, 
'Tis left to us in measure large 

To be borne out or in. 

The sturdy heart and eagle eye 

Look not to depths below, 
The steady hand and courage grasp 

Decide the way to go; 
The man who waits for fav'ring breeze 

And does not pull the ropes, 
Generally wafts against his will 

With wrecked and shattered hopes. 
He may wish and wait, whine and cry, 

9 8 



Heaven is still the same, 
If he neglect rudder and sail, 

Himself he has to blame; 
The winds and waves will serve us all, 

Will bear us in or out, 
If we keep in our places firm 

And careful tack about. 
There are hours of darkness — hours of storm 

In such we rule no part, 
God wrecks or speeds as He sees fit, 

But gives us brain and heart. 
So while you may, oh, sailor tried, 

Pull bravely — tack about; 
The wind that brings one vessel in 

Will speed another out! 

PRAYER 

There are many things I'm thankful for 

When I the past recall, 
But chiefly I'm glad that most of my prayers 

Have not been answered at all; 
Dear Guardian Angel — I've blamed you much 

When you failed to soar on air 
And give in haste to recording one 

My earnest tho' foolish prayer. 
I've asked for riches, for fame, for power, 

I've asked for the gift of love, 
I've prayed for them all, but very few 

Of my prayers were heard above — 
Oh, Guardian Angel, I'm very sure 

I've made you almost wild, 
For all the days of my long life thro' 

I've been such a silly child! 
To-night I rest in your sheltering arms, 

Beneath your protecting wing, 

99 



And whisper this song of my gratitude 

Which now I heartily sing; 
Sweet Angel, sweet Angel, I faint to think 

What might have become of me 
If all of my prayers you had carried up 

And bro't back the answers free; 
Just to think how I've grasped at roses sweet 

With serpents twined round the stem, 
Just to think how I've seen misguided feet 

And wished I could dance with them. 
And to-night, dear Angel, I lay my brow 

'Gainst your bosom warm and true, 
My disappointments I see at the last 

Were entirely due to you. 
Your voice is now deep in my erring heart, 

I will hold it sacred still 
And never again shall I utter prayer 

That may be against your will; 
It is well that your wings refuse to rise 

With my follies do not go, 
And Angel — my dear — I am, sorry now 

That ever I grieved you so! 
And so now when I kneel in prayer you smile 

And to Heaven waft away, 
For let come what will or let go what will, 

"God help us!" is all I say. 

A BAD HABIT 

I stared at her as she shook her grey head, 
"Getting old is just a bad habit" she said, 
The earth when 'tis covered with winter's snow, 
Gathers still the flowers in its warm heart glow; 
When the hand grows weak and the eyes grow 

dim, 
We still can join glad in life's evening hymn; 

ioo 



The spring so fair and the summer so bright 
We can hold for our joy in the winter night; 
We may feel the chill of the season's snow, 
But flowers are slumbering beneath we know, 
We can keep in our soul its youthful light 
Just the same as when pleasure was gay in sight; 
Oh, yes, you may sing it in measure bold 
" Tis a very bad habit — this growing old!" 
Tho' the step be slow, and the form be bent, 
The spirit may be full of a sweet content; 
Now the storms of our days are well nigh past 
And the shore of our rest is in sight at last, 
Just a little while, and the setting sun 
Will show that our labor in this sphere is done; 
We cannot grow old — as the stars had birth, 
So forever we be on this changing earth, 
Still the stars shine on as they shone at first 
When their flashing thro' darkness in glory burst, 
Still young and yet old — forever and aye, 
They are moving to music beyond the sky, 
And the same sweet music to us is near 
If we earnestly lift up our souls to hear; 
The limbs may be weak and the tresses grey 
And our footsteps approaching the close of day, 
And soon in the quiet of darkened room 
They will close our eyes with a touch of gloom ; 
We shall seem so old to the human sight 
While our soul is away in the upper light; 
We are not old, and we never can be, 
Even thro' the long ages of Eternity, 
As sun and as stars was our glorious birth, 
We can never grow old on this changing earth; 
We may faint and falter and even die, 
But our spring time goes with us beyond the sky! 



lot 



ERIN 

I sit alone under moss draped tree 

Where musical voices float clown to me, 

Around me grandeur of forest spread 

With our King's own canopy overhead; 

I catch the flutter of songster's wings, 

My heart is attuned to all joyous things; 

At my feet the streamlets sparkling flow 

The waters murmuring as on they go; 

In tho't I follow as swift they glide 

To join in the turbulent river tide, 

Still on and on beyond mount and cave, 

Till I hear the storms of Atlantic rave, 

Till at last I reach a far off shore 

And dream of the fields I shall see no more ; 

I think of the time when at my feet 

The dear little primroses smiled so sweet; 

I think of halls where the harp's bright strings 

Were waked to music by angel wings; 

I think of playmate, of doll and book 

And the cresses down in the babbling brook; 

I think of mother who kissed her child 

When my soul was full of sweet fancies wild; 

I think of father — I think of all, 

Thank God for these memories' sweet recall — 

'Tis fancy blest that has bro't to me 

This fond picture of home beyond the sea; 

Oh, grand and great is Columbia's land, 

Adopted and faithful I hold my stand, 

With voice and with arm I'll e'er defend 

The country that keeps me with care of friend, 

But blame me not as I turn my eyes 

To the Em'rald shore where my childhood lies, 

That I feel and know in inner heart 

No other attraction can fill the part 

102 



Of the dear old Isle by Irish Sea, 

Where song words of angels first came to me! 

FRIEND AND FOE 

Your friend is your friend thro' shine or rain, 

He has bro't you pleasure — shared your pain, 

In all your struggles has taken part; 

You hold him sacred in inmost heart, 

Forever and aye your love is true 

To the friend who's been a joy to you; 

Your foe has struck with an evil eye 

At very roots where your best hopes lie, 

Has forced your spirit to give a blow, 

Your soul its mightiest power to show; 

You've struck back fiercely with iron hand 

Straight from the shoulder with impulse grand. 

The fight tho' fierce has but made you strong, 

Has planted you firm where gods belong! 

The grand old oak with its forest power 
Outspreads its branches to sun and shower, 
Holds high above in its rustling green 
The singing birds and the dazzling sheen, 
Outspreads its branches in kingly glee 
And shouts to its friends "I've shade for ye!" 
Dear little birds 'mid sheltering leaves 
Just peeping over the small nest eaves, 
You chirp and flutter with rare delight, 
Your home is so lovely, grand and bright. 
The old oak sings to its friend the sky 
And tosses its branches brave and high, 
But down below, in the earth there lies 
The root from which all these blessings rise — 
Root that was shaken by storm and found 
In struggle, firmer and deeper ground, 

103 



The root that would not be shaken up 
And the storms exhausted, gave it up 
As a task in vain to tear the tree, 
That glorious and great was meant to be. 

And so you see that your friend in love 

Has lifted your struggling soul above, 

Has spread out your arms in rain or shine 

And made your mission on earth divine. 

But if foeman had given no blow 

Your roots less firm might have been below, 

You mightn't have struck with such iron will 

When his fingers grasped with purpose ill. 

And so you see in this hour at last 

You've gained as much from the howling blast 

As ever you did from sun or showers 

That helped to brighten your struggling hours. 

Let love and thanks to your true friend go, 

But much is due to your hated foe ! 

AUTUMN LEAVES 

The brown leaves falling round me, 

Rustling under my tread, 
And the low but thrilling voices 

Whispering "Summer is Dead" 

Speak to my heart this morning, 

Lead me gently aside, 
Rebuking, but oh, so kindly, 

Anger and sloth and pride. 

They seem to ask so sadly 

"When all was bright and green, 

Wert thou in happy unison 

True as thou should'st have been. 

104 



While summer lingered with thee 
And songs were in thy breast, 

Were thy words and deeds in keeping, 
Leading to peace and rest? 

Now while the tears of Autumn 
Fall on the summer flowers, 

Entwine for thy winter's comfort 
A wreath of well spent hours/' 

Oh, questioning, solemn voices, 

How can my heart reply, 
While turned to the wasted moments 

Of golden hours gone by? 

Instead of up and doing, 

Ready, useful and true, 
Full many a time it faltered, 

Sighing "I've nought to do!" 

Many a time it fainted 

While golden hours rolled on, 

Till the flowers it might have gathered 
At last were dead and gone. 

Oh, heart rebuked and silent, 

Listen and think to-day, 
For perhaps another summer 

May never light thy way. 

Still there is life and beauty, 
Still thou canst toil and strive 

Making the world grow better 
Because thou art alive. 



105 



Now while the time is given, 

Fearlessly cast aside 
The load thou art weakly bearing 

Of selfishness and pride. 

List the voices of Nature, 

Learn from the birds and flowers, 

Twine for thy last remembrance 
A wreath of well spent hours. 

LITTLE BIRD 

Oh, little bird in your lowly nest, 
The cold dew gemming your soft brown breast, 
You chirp and call for the mother love 
That's to teach the way to soar above. 

You do not know, and there's none can tell 
The powers that in yon quiet dwell; 
Just wait till the morning hour is past 
You'll catch the breath of the noontide blast. 

You'll twitter no more, you'll rise and sing 
With sunshine broad on your upward wing, 
You'll soar and flutter with song so high 
Away and away to far off sky. 

You'll meet your comrades as Nature meant, 
Your voice with theirs shall be grandly blent, 
You'll swell the choir with the music best 
That was taught to you in dewy nest, 

That mother Nature there bro't to you, 
Your little brown breast was wet with dew, 
You'll reach the flowers that wait below 
Just smiling out of the winter's snow. 

106 



You'll sing to peasant, you'll sing to king, 
And each one will bless the flight of wing 
That bears you away, 'bove cloud and all 
And flutters reply to comrades call. 

You were made for beauty, song and cheer, 
To be as one with loveliest here ; 
Oh, little brown bird, I follow you 
Away in your flight 'bove azure blue. 

You call me away — I lift my breast 
With dew of morn, and song refreshed, 
Never a longing have you for fame 
Or tho't of crowds with their loud acclaim. 

Songs from your bosom in music burst, 
You sing — its in you — sing you must, 
I follow you in your flight and song 
Altho' below is my comrade throng. 

I spring from the dust to watch you sweet 
Above my head, with choir you meet, 
I watch your flight thro' the upper sky 
With eager spirit and dazzled eye. 

Oh, little brown bird, just pause for me, 
I follow you from tree to tree, 
I will not turn from your flight away 
'Till I reach with you the realms of day; 
I will not turn till my song with thine 
Has joined with the choir on heights divine! 



107 



WE DO NOT KNOW 

She came from her mansion — she wept with me 
And tenderly touched the babe on my knee, 
"So like my own!" with a quiver she said, 
"Just the same fair form and the same bright 

head, 
He was taken from me long years ago — - 
He was so precious and I loved him so!" 

I could not put him away from my breast, 

He seemed to be taking a happy rest — 

"He is dead" they whispered, "we'll lay him 

down, 
His spirit now weareth an angel crown, 
We cannot bid you to be calm, but then 
He will smile in your eyes some day again." 

Not a word of comfort could touch my brain, 
All of earthly promise seemed void and vain, 
I could only think of my baby there; 
"Dead, oh dead," I cried in my wild despair. 
My neighbor touched me with a gentle hand 
"His working, we never can understand, 
He has taken yours, He has taken mine, 
It is ours to bow to the will Divine. 
If our darling babies on earth had stayed, 
If their steps afar in the wrong had strayed, 
How bitter the sorrow — how torn the heart 
That now in a glorious life has part; 
I would give all gold — I would give all gear 
Just to look at my darling standing here, 
But now as I'm nearing the setting sun, 
I have learned to utter "Thy will be done!" 



108 



And this was the woman I tho't so cold, 
Vain of her beauty and proud of her gold; 
Once again she spoke, and her words were these, 
"How oft when your baby played 'neath the trees 
I have envied you in my blinding grief 
For which there is never a full relief!" 

And this was the woman I'd envied quite 
In her mansion stately with halls so bright, 
She knelt by my side and she breathed a prayer 
That relief might come to my wild despair; 
I looked in her face thro' my blinding woe, 
And I said "Forgive me, I did not know 
That you were so kind and I tho't you cold, 
Wrapped up in the love of your power and gold ; 
She sobbed in a whisper "We envy so, 
For we do not know, ah, we do not know!" 

MEMORY PICTURES OF ERIN 

The first is a simple picture — 

A cottage beside the sea, 
Half shadowed by Time's dark pinions 

Yet dearest in memory; 
A mingling of happy voices, 

A sound as of dancing feet, 
A breathing of summer zephyrs, 

Low, mournful, but oh, how sweet. 
A heaving of restless billows 

Tossed up on the pebbly beach, 
A blending of shade and sunshine 

As far as the eye can reach ; 
The present in silence passes 

Away from my eager ken, 
And I o'er the cottage threshold 

Have trod with the Past again 

109 



Sweet smiles from the gentle hearted, 

A welcome without surprise, 
A light that seemeth familiar, 

Soft beaming from loving eyes ; 
Ah, me, I am only dreaming 

When memory brings to me 
This vision so full of beauty 

Of home and its melody! 

The next is a mournful picture 

All shadowy, cold and dim, 
A waving of willow branches, 

A sorrowful vesper hymn; 
Dark sods with no grass upon them, 

The splashing of orphan's tears 
A sorrow on young hearts fallen 

To darken life's purest years; 
Ah, clouds are about this picture — 

Thank God, I have power to see, 
E'en now in this hour of anguish, 

The light of Eternity! 

The next is an April picture, 

A blending of light and shade, 
A pathway tangled and thorny 

'Mid roses and sunshine made — 
A goal in the far-off brightness 

Tears hastily dashed away, 
A gladness within the spirit 

Still waiting the dawn of day; 
Ah, many have seen this vision — 

Thank God, Who has said that we 
Who weep in Time's chequered valley 

Shall smile in Eternity! 



no 



JOSEY 

I am listening — I am listening 

To the music wild and free 
Of the deep toned Mississippi 

Rolling onward to the sea; 
Rolling onward — rolling onward 

To the mighty, heaving sea, 
Which is tossing oh, so darkly 

'Tween my native land and me! 

I am dreaming — I am, dreaming 
That I hear the ceaseless roar 

Of the surges madly breaking 
'Gainst a far off Em'rald shore, 

And the echoes 'mid the green hills 
Where my feet may tread no more! 

I am gazing — I am gazing 
On the sunset crimsoned sky 

While the palace boats all gorgeous 
Float in regal beauty by, 

But my soul looks on a picture 
Where the shadows heavy lie. 

Far across Atlantic waters 

Came a sad voice yesterday, 
Saying ''Thy young fav'rite brother 

From our earth has passed away. 
Then my heart grew weak with anguish 

And my lips refused to pray! 

In life's clouded spring we parted, 

I was elder of the twain, 
And with brave hopes sobbing whispered 

"We shall meet, you know, again 



in 



When I am a woman, Josey 

You shall never dream of pain!" 

Years of toil were years of pleasure, 
For his sake was conquered pride, 

For his sake I toiled and struggled, 
For his sake, I would have died; 

Earth is lonely — I am weary 
Oh, that I were by his side! 

In the Shannon's Holy Island 

Where the primrose stars are bright, 

In a grave by willows shaded 

From the summer's laughing ligh*, 

Lieth he whose spirit noble 

Cheered my soul in trial's night. 

I am gazing, I am gazing 
On the sunset's crimson sky, 

While the palace boats all gorgeous. 
Float in regal beauty by, 

But my soul looks on this picture 
Where the shadows heavy lie! 



TI2 



PRIDE 

Man's pride is the funniest thing I know- 
In the skies above or the earth below, 
A whimsical idea — smile I must 
While ''worm on the leaf scorns worm in the 
dust." 

One thinks he is wise and knows it all 

Why the lightning strikes — why the apples fall. 

Another of slower or duller mind 

The why or the wherefore seeks not to find; 

He trembles in awe as the storm sweeps past 

And picks up the apple from rich tree cast. 

One wears a fine garment in palace high 
From whence float gay flags to the azure sky ; 
It is his — all his — or at least he swells 
With the proud possession proclaimed by bells ; 
But somehow he sighs for — he knows not what 
And frets and fumes with his dazzling lot. 

The other in patches, goes at morn 

With elbows out and with shoes all torn 

Or very likely no shoes at all; 

The cattle come to his shrilly call, 

He has babe at home and toiling wife, 

He drinks from the simplest fount of life; 

The woods and the waves are free to him 

And God's own temple he enters in. 

He sometimes sighs — for he knows not what 

For this you know is the common lot. 

I think of spheres that eternal roll 

My mind too small for the mighty whole ; 

I see the systems in glowing fire, 

113 



I hear the voice that calls still higher, 
I think of wonderful, mighty hand 
That moves it all and I understand 
That I and this little earth can be 
Just trivial mites where such spheres I see. 

I gaze, I wonder and then look back 

On the common way of human track, 

And from the sublime, I now descend 

To smile at comical side, my friend; 

You can't deride me, I'm sure this day 

As I view cities of earth so gay 

And note the scorn which the pampered few 

Display to the dusty struggling thro'. 

Spirit of Dickens — I take your line, 

Twas written for all — I make it mine, 

'Tis a comical thing — smile I must 

As "worm on the leaf scorns worm in the dust. 



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